Sometimes I Wish For Falling
by naxmachine
Summary: Aubrey Posen has it all at the moment - she's kicking ass at law school, Jesse's being the perfect boyfriend, and her best friend Chloe couldn't be happier now that Beca's her girlfriend. So where does all this dissatisfaction come from? Triple treble, rated T for now but will change to M in future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**So when I started this whole Fanfiction thing, I had three insurmountable problems. 1) I can't write multichapters. They're too long and I'm not that good of a writer so I might just turn them into a snoozefest. 2) I can't write a Triple Treble. The characterization of 3 different girls will be so hard. And 3) I can't write smut. I'll end up laughing at the gore.**

**And hey, look where we are now! Killing three birds with one stone! Okay, too much enthusiasm. Let's just get on with this thing and hope it won't be a train wreck.**

**Note: This is a different universe from my previous fanfics. Jesse and Aubrey are definitely together in there. But here...you don't want spoilers? Nope? Then belly roll, aca-bitches.**

* * *

_Borrow Legal Reasoning and Legal Writing from the Library. Update Jesse on dinner plans. Pick up some tea. Check if Chloe and Beca is coming to dinner_ -

And right after typing that - _bam_. There it is again.

You couldn't understand when it really started: that gnawing feeling inside you that makes your chest feel heavy - so heavy you sometimes don't want to get up in the morning. But you are your father's daughter. And so you get up. You run around law school, you eat your calorie-calibrated meals, you do cardio on weekends, you hang around with the Bellas, you listen while Chloe babbles on about how sweet Beca was today.

You walk around carrying this - _whatever it is_ - that makes you feel like you should have something you shouldn't. And the frustrating part is you don't even know what that is. All you know is the longer you live with it, the deeper you get dragged under some sort of abyss inside you, and it's killing you.

You heave out a huge sigh and wrap up the reminders on your phone. You finish your cereal and wear the outfit you picked earlier. You expertly put up your hair in a bun, apply makeup, pick up your books. There. Aubrey Posen back to regular programming.

* * *

Maybe it started a year ago, on the ICCA championship night, when Beca ran to the stands and kissed Jesse. You don't realize it's happening until you hear a sob behind you. You turn around to see Chloe wiping a single tear away from her cheek, and you follow her distraught eyes. _Oh_.

A weight settles down in the pit of your stomach. You're suddenly, irrationally, unexplainably angry. With Beca, because you're pretty sure the only term for what she and Chloe have been doing in all those rehearsals is eye-fucking. With Chloe, because how can she be so stupid to want such a dense, hopeless person? With... you think for a moment, trying to explain the exact reason why you're so angry, and you come up with some theory that maybe, just maybe, you want Jesse. Because he's a cool guy and he doesn't shrink when he sees you and there's no way you could want Beca, right?

You should have realized back then, how you lived to rationalize.

You gather Chloe in your arms, trying to keep your own frustration from your face. _Keep it classy, Posen. Classy._ Chloe clutches you wordlessly and it's a surprise, how you can hear her heart breaking amidst the raucous cheers. Maybe it's your own. You're not really sure.

* * *

Or maybe it was a few days after that, when Beca and Jesse turn up at your doorstep. (Or yours and Chloe's doorstep, technically.) It had been a rough morning, trying to get Chloe to get out of bed and eat something - or even just do something, aside from digging a hole in her bedroom to sulk in.

(It actually takes all of your willpower not to lie down and mope next to her.)

So you're a little shocked when you open the door and see the cause of your heartbreak waiting there. Beca. You shake your head mentally - you mean,_ Jesse_. The three of you stand there a beat too long, and for once in your life, no reprimands are coming to your head.

"We're...um..." Beca starts, then stops, clearing her throat. "Is Chloe in?"

You recover your wits at the image of Chloe slumped in her sheets, eyes red, watching The Notebook for the umpteenth time. "No. You're not seeing her again. Not after what you did – "

Beca holds up a hand and you're surprised at how fast you stop. "Aubrey, I get it. I'm a dick. But...I had to kiss Jesse for me to see that I want Chloe. That's a shitty reason for kissing someone else, but I want her and I'm going to tell her that right now."

Jesse, standing behind Beca, nodded. "It was like kissing my sibling. We looked at each other afterwards and went, 'ugh'."

You sigh and step aside, letting them in. Beca goes straight to Chloe's room, having been there a lot of times before. Jesse bounds to the couch, plops down like he owned it, and looks at you expectantly.

"What?" you snap, and then you try to fix your face into genuine curiosity because it wouldn't do to scare away the guy of your dreams. (Or so you'd like to believe.)

Jesse smiles shyly, and it's different from his usual boyish grin. "I know this will sound weird, but...I came to see you."

* * *

"So...what happened to not dating a Treblemaker?"

You scoff at Chloe's teasing tone. She came out of her room wearing fresh clothes (thank God) and a huge smile on her face, no doubt caused by Beca and Jesse's impromptu visit.

"It's just an invitation to a friendly dinner between two captains. Besides, a lot of things have changed." You keep your voice even.

"Yeah. Bumper's gone," Chloe laughs and you feel your stomach heave. Ugh, the guy had been at Barden for a decade, and he never would have stopped feeling up the Bellas every year if not for John Mayer. "So...Beca and I kissed."

You stare at her from the couch. "You know better than to entice me to puke, right? Because I will, if you continue with that train of thought."

Chloe leaps on the space next to you, leaning on your shoulder. "No, no. It's just - I am so in love with Beca, Bree. Like I wanna marry her and have her aca-babies. And she tells me she feels the same. You're my best friend and I know you were just protecting me earlier, but we're fine now, okay? So it would be nice if you could...you know...be friends too."

You push her off your shoulder with mock annoyance and rearrange yourself into a prim-and-proper sitting position. "What happened to not enticing me to puke?" But Chloe's face was dead serious, her bright blue eyes earnest, so you try to match her expression. "Beca and I are friends."

"Nope. You listen to each other with polite smiles on your faces, trying not to reach out and wring the other's throat. You're just tolerating each other."

"Did you give Beca this little speech as well?"

"She promises she'll try not to put out her claws when you're around."

You glance at her imploring eyes – damn it, Chloe Beale sure gets everything she wants with that Disney princess act - and finally give in. "Fine. We'll do this whole friendship thing." And hope not to die in the process, you think grimly.

Chloe squeals and gives you her trademark bone-breaker hug. Already you're thinking this friendship thing could be the death of you.

* * *

You're pretty sure it started two months after that, near the end of summer. You were all piled up in your green Prius, Jesse humming at the wheel, and you look at him and wonder._ Is it all right for one's dreams to come true so easily?_

Jesse briefly glances at you and whines jokingly. "Don't stare at me like that, babe. Not while I'm driving."

You pout and play the adoring girlfriend. "Is there a switch to turn off the handsomeness?"

He chuckles, and it turns into a full laugh when he glances up at the rearview mirror. "Hey! We can actually see you, ladies!"

You crane your head and look at the backseat; sure enough, Beca and Chloe were making out. Again. For the hundredth time in this two-hour road trip. Beca's fingers on Chloe's rich red hair, Chloe's hands underneath Beca's hoodie - and you suddenly feel that irrational anger, like it was the ICCA championship night all over again, but this time you're also utterly confused. You have Jesse now and Chloe and Beca have each other and _why the hell are you so damn furious then?_

Deep breaths. You suddenly wanted to vomit. On a perfect sunny day, on a lovely trip to the beach with your boyfriend and best friend and frenemy. Deep breaths, deep breaths.

"Are you okay?" Jesse's kind of slowing down the car, looking at you and cradling your cheek. "You could use some water."

He's really so sweet, he's obviously so worried, and you idly wonder why you aren't as in tune with him as he is with you. "I'm good. Just a little dizzy." _With the fact that lesbians are kissing in my backseat and I'm pretty sure I'm not homophobic but it makes me so mad_, you follow up dryly, though of course you don't tell him that.

He stops on the side of the road just so he can go to the trunk of the car where he kept the cooler. Beca and Chloe finally realize the car isn't moving, and Chloe lets out an appreciative _aww_ when Jesse returns with three ice-cold bottles. "You're making my girl thirsty, you two," he kids the couple in the backseat, tossing two bottles at them and opening the third one for you.

"Whipped as a puppy," Beca says in an undertone.

"Yep, just like you," Chloe giggles, snuggling up to the brunette's arm. You shoot them a glare that silences them, then take a sip of water and nod at Jesse's expectant face. "I'm good. Thanks."

He starts the car and within a few seconds you're looking at passing scenery. Jesse then takes one of your hands, kisses it, and puts it on his lap. You smile at him for the gesture and he beams right back. You love this guy. How could you not?

* * *

You were not this person before. Sure, your life may not be as charming and peachy and princess-y as Chloe's, but Major James Alastair Posen at least made sure you grew up perfect.

You were told to have the highest grade in class, from grade school to college (or pack your bags). You were told to study something that would get you employment in the highest echelons of the society. You were told to marry a military man or a doctor or a lawyer. Your father didn't have to be specific, but you're pretty sure he means a guy.

So far it was all good. You lived up to expectations, with only the slight drawback of stress-vomiting. You finished top of the class. You got into Emory and you're going on second year of law school with excellent marks. You're dating Jesse, who, while nowhere near your dad's criteria, is pretty much a guy the last time you checked.

You were not this person who checks out Beca's legs as the group moves forward to the sand and crashing blue waves. You were not this person who laughs instead of throwing a fit when she not-so-sneakily roots around your bag for the tanning lotion.

"Who the hell wears hoodies to the beach?" you say, half-mocking, half in jest.

"She wants some sort of big reveal for her bikini," Chloe calls out from where she and Jesse were preparing the table.

"Big reveal, my ass," Beca mutters. She unceremoniously yanks off the hoodie, and you were definitely not this person who gasps a little at the perfection underneath - creamy toned abs, full breasts covered with little scraps of black cloth. Then again, it was so Beca to get a black bikini - and a wolf-whistle from Chloe cuts through the balmy air and you're brought back to earth.

"Hey, you okay?" Beca's snapping her fingers at your face. "You're not gonna puke, are you?"

You lamely shake your head no, and again, you're not this person who never has a biting retort ready. Beca may be the queen of sarcasm, but you're relentless with comebacks because yeah, you're one of those people who just have to have the last word.

Jesse turns up at that moment to save you and you're unsure if you're happy or annoyed with the interruption. But you let him tug you away from Beca, and when the two of you walk away, you can still feel Beca's slate blue eyes on you.

You're not this person who looks on a moment too long while Chloe and Beca are frolicking in the water. You tell yourself it's just you playing mother hen to Chloe, because the redhead has let far too many people in her life for your liking. You've nursed her through a lot of one-night stands and short-lived romances. And she might swear Beca's different, but you really can't say – after all, this is the girl you wanted to incinerate the moment you laid eyes on her, with her stupid smirk and ear monstrosities and the knowing gleam in her eye.

Okay, you begrudgingly admit she has her good qualities too - she helped the Bellas win, she's talented, she's actually a softie around Chloe (and gradually around you and Jesse too, being around her more often that you would have wanted), she's driven, she's really hot in that damn bikini and you just want to rip it off and see what's –

- _Wait, what?_

Backtrack.

You're watching them because you're a mother hen. You worry about Chloe. You may be a bitch, but not the type that steals other's girlfriends. End.

* * *

Beca's suddenly shouting "Sick!" in the couch where she was watching TV (surprisingly) and you can't help but look up from your laptop. You decide if it's worth it to berate her for yelling when you glance at the TV screen and see what it was she was being so excited about.

Chloe comes out of the kitchen, attracted by the noise. Beca was now standing wide-eyed like some fucking _kid_, actually bouncing up and down with excitement. "Babe! It's the new trailer for Grand Theft Auto 5!"

Already Chloe's wrinkling her nose at the chaos onscreen. She actually winces at the sight of the rifleman doing head shots and clears her throat. "I don't...is that a movie?"

Beca looks at her like she's been living under a rock. "It's the greatest open-world action game ever!" She turns back to the TV. "Wait, that guy looks an awful lot like the character from GTA San Andreas. Chris? Charles?"

You surprise even yourself when you blurt out, "Carl. Carl Johnson."

This time Beca's head swivels to look at you so fast you almost heard it crick. Chloe's jaw drops. "Bree, you mean you play that...that abomination?"

You shrug. "Ask me about Counter Strike."

Beca's still staring at you, but she's walking over to Chloe, wrapping an arm around the redhead's waist. "I'm gonna line up at the video store when it comes out. It's gonna be frickin' awesome – "

"You are not going to buy that," Chloe says, not bothering to hide her horror. "It'll make you violent!"

"Psh, you sound like my mother," Beca grumbles.

"I mean it! Studies show that people who play video games like those – "

"What study? That's, like, shit _Bowling for Columbine_ disproved way back in 2000."

"You are not going to get that game, Rebeca Elise Mitchell," Chloe says dangerously, drawing herself to full height, her hands on her hips.

Beca rolls her eyes and gives out a loud huff. "Yes, m'lady," she mutters sullenly.

Once Chloe's out of earshot, though, Beca rounds on your spot at the coffee table, taking the pouf chair opposite you. "So...Aubrey Posen, gamer extraordinaire?"

You snort. "No. I just like the noisy ones - first-person-shooter stuff."

"Why?" You weren't expecting the questioning at all - it's even a surprise that Beca Mitchell hasn't said one sarcastic word to you in thirty seconds - but you keep your eyes on your laptop and decide to humor her.

"My father's a really angry guy," you say. "And even if I'm in my room and he's downstairs, sometimes full-volume Ace on Base on headphones isn't enough to shut out his voice, so..."

"It drowns out the yelling better," Beca says. She clears her throat and clarifies. "The gunshots drown out the yelling better."

You nod, still focused on your laptop screen. On the corner of your eye she's fidgeting and you relish this moment when Beca's really awkward, actually trying to think of something sensible to say _for once_. She asks, "Have you tried going on six wanted stars in GTA 4?"

"Oh please. I bet you haven't even lasted five minutes."

"Well, how long have you lasted?" Real-life Beca's back, the constant challenge once again present in her voice.

"Twenty. I got bored and Molotov'ed myself." No need to mention your character spent that time cooped up inside a tank.

Beca punches your arm with a grin, and it's the first time she touches you of her own accord. You gasp, more out of shock than actual outrage. "Keep your hobbit hands to yourself!"

"So we're getting GTA 5, right?" Beca's bouncing on her seat, and there's no indication in her face that she's amazed you're not strangling each other yet. "I'll hide my console in your room and we'll play when Chloe's asleep...okaaay, that came out wrong."

"Ew! You just indecently propositioned me behind my best friend's back!" You stare at her, trying to re-channel your inner bitch, and then you're taken aback by how..._congenially_ her blue eyes were looking back at you. She sticks out her tongue and you think maybe you could actually do this whole friendship thing.

That is, if you can resist the alarms going off in your head.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for all the reviews, guys. I'm pretty determined to see this fanfic through the end, so don't worry.**

**Quick question for veteran Triple Treble writers. I chose Aubrey, Beca and Chloe as characters, but in the listing the only characters that come up in the description are Aubrey and Beca. I see other Triple Treble stories with the three names intact and whatever I do, I just can't fix this. I'm OC about stuff like these and it's killing me. Somebody help?**

**Anyway. More angst for Aubrey Posen! I love this character because she has even more dimensions than Beca or Chloe. Nobody knows much about her, nobody's sure what she wants, and this means I can invent anything! Haha! Okay, commentary's not making sense now. I must warn you that angst will continue until next chapter. But Chapter 4 will be the game-changer, I promise. Hang on in there.**

* * *

So here you all are a year after all those, and you have pretty much a set routine now, some sort of TV show the four of you are living. You, Jesse, Chloe and Beca are now living under the same roof. (Well, technically not Jesse and Beca, because you and Chloe both agreed it's too early to ask them to move in.)

It's sort of chaotic because if Chloe was a bit clumsy and forgetful with her stuff, Jesse was a slob. And that was an understatement. You don't respond well to disorder and these are the only times you and Jesse ever argue, because otherwise you have no problem with him watching movies until the wee hours and he has no problem with you being suddenly closed off sometimes. Also, you see how hard Jesse is trying to clean up after himself, little things such as washing the glass he used and keeping the toilet seat down. He actually does it better once you've worked out some sort of reward system and kiss him every time he does something right. _Men._ They're too easy.

Plus, while the apartment is a spacious two-bedroom, you and Chloe just never thought when you rented it that within the same month you'd both be in relationships. That meant crowds in bathrooms, a dining table too small for four, and a tiny couch when the four of you are watching TV. Too damn tiny that you usually shoo Jesse away to one of the pouf chairs. Chloe would sit in the middle because though you and Beca are gradually getting along swimmingly, the two of you are still prone to barking matches. Sometimes Chloe's excitement would get the better of her for no reason, and she'd randomly reach over and hug both of you towards her, bumping your heads together. Jesse would grin from his seat and say, "Wow, I am glad I don't fit in that couch."

Not everything is nasty, though. All of you being aca-people, there's always a lot of music going on. Impromptu dance parties and concerts in the living room. Singing in the car (because while you and Jesse both have your own, it's impractical driving separately and you all often end up carpooling). Speakers are always playing something on some room of the apartment. You wonder how you're able to keep your grades up despite all the noise.

This morning starts with one of those impromptu concerts, when you slipped out of bed to get coffee. It's a weekend, and though Jesse is still passed out naked in your bed, you're very much a morning person who wakes up at six in the morning out of force of habit. You walk quietly to the kitchen with as much grace as you can muster in a robe and moccasins, and then you hear singing.

_Sometimes I wish for falling_

_Wish for the release_

_Wish for falling through the air to give me some relief_

Beca's back is turned to you, and from the looks of it, she's wrestling with a pancake in the stove. Unknowingly you open your mouth and harmonize the next lines:

_Because falling's not the problem,_

_When I'm falling I'm at peace_

_It's only when I hit the ground it causes all the grief_

She turns around with a slight jolt and relaxes upon seeing you, allowing herself a slight smile. You shrug and walk over to the coffee maker, not really expecting her to say anything, so it was your turn to jump when she speaks.

"Florence and the Machine? You are getting more and more interesting, Posen."

"Sneaking around the kitchen this early? You are getting more and more creepy, Mitchell."

Beca laughs and you try your best not to say the rest of what's on your mind: _I love seeing you in my kitchen. I love it when you cook. I love how your small, dainty hands handle everything with ease._ Fuck, where is all this thought vomit coming from?

"You wanna help me out? I mean, since we've already shared an intimate moment together." Beca shakes her head. "Balls, where did that inappropriate comment come from? Jesus."

"Freudian slip," you joke, and now you know what they mean by jokes being half-meant. "And aca-scuse me, but singing a duet with you doesn't mean you warmed the cockles of my heart enough to label it 'intimate'. The only person you'll fool with that cliche is Chloe."

"Aubrey Posen, always good with words." Beca rolls her eyes good-naturedly. "Come help me with breakfast. You know Jesse will love it. Chloe will," and the smile that spreads on her face when she mentions your best friend cracks your heart a little.

Of course she doesn't think twice about asking for your help. The two of you are the only ones who know how to cook in the house, and you've spent a lot of times working together in the kitchen, slaving away on countless dinners while Chloe's on the way home from Emory med school and Jesse's on the couch watching some movie.

Of course she has no idea this is bothering you. Of course she cares so much about Chloe, and damn it if you ever let slip that it's bugging you.

So you get up and take out some more flour from the shelf, and Beca hums some more Florence and the Machine, apparently waiting for you to sing the rest of the lines. You relish the domestic feel to it all – passing her more batter, helping her with the new juicer (because for a really odd reason, Chloe hates coffee for breakfast), teaching her how to make the bacon really crispy without burning it, just the way Chloe likes them. And then you frown with the realization that you wouldn't have enjoyed yourself as much if it was Jesse standing next to you instead.

So no one can blame you for being a little absentminded when Jesse takes you in his arms and kisses you hotly upon seeing your breakfast delivery. By Chloe's squeal in the next room and the clatter of silverware falling to the floor, you assume Beca's receiving the same treatment. You close your eyes and kiss back mechanically. Then Jesse's hands are sliding expertly to your breasts, and you wonder if Beca's hands on the same spot would feel just as good.

* * *

It's the last month of school and you're on the study table in the living room again, cramming for finals. _Roe v. Wade paved the way for abortion in all 50 states. Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission is something about First Amendment_...god. You pinch the bridge of your nose and let out a groan you wouldn't be caught dead making in daylight. Because Aubrey Posen never complains about work. You just charge ahead determinedly and get it done a little better than other people.

This is your life. Case digests, constitutions, legal textbooks. The only thing attaching you to this is how it'll allow you to wield more power in the future. _Wow, how dictatorial._ You let out another groan.

Hands suddenly knead on your shoulders, firm and assuring and comfortable, and you lean back. There was no need to turn around; you'd know that lavender scent anywhere. "You're the best, Chloe."

Chloe continues the massage for a long while, and then settles gracefully into the pouf chair next to you. You almost envy her for it, the way she naturally moves around in a languid, polished manner, something you can't accomplish without conscious, constant instructions to yourself. _Raise your chin. Straighten your back. Always cross your legs._

Chloe's voice breaks you out of your reverie. "Remember that time when we were sophomores?"

"We were sophomores for a whole year, Chlo. Not sure what time I should be remembering," and your voice cracks a little from exhaustion. Chloe just laughs.

"We were studying for the first exams of the year, just like this. When I said...something about howIcanmakeyoufallinlovewithmeifyouwouldjustallowm e."

You manage to catch everything despite the speed with which she delivered them, and laugh at her mortified expression. "Why bring it up when you know it'll bring you that much embarrassment?" You point at Chloe's reddening face.

"Because I just want you to know the offer still stands." If anything, Chloe's face grows even redder. "I mean, I know there's Jesse and I have Beca, but seeing you like this...I guess I'll never stop being just a tiny bit in love with you, Bree. Especially in these moments."

"Don't let Beca hear you saying that, she'll have a coronary."

"Oh, it's nothing Beca would get jealous about," she waves her hand around airily. "She knows about that...that time."

That time a few years ago when Chloe was not-so-secretly in love with you, and you weren't sure if you wanted her too or if it was just the thrill of having someone who genuinely cared. That was second year in Barden, and you have just adjusted to not having someone yell at you the moment you set foot on the doorway. Instead it's warm hugs and exuberant kisses at your cheek from a certain ginger. All of it made you happy in ways you never deemed possible.

But after Chloe's little declaration, you firmly told her you're not sure if you feel the same way, and so you're not saying anything for fear of leading her on. It was in true Aubrey Posen fashion, not acting on anything based on vague evidence. Your life back then (and even now) consisted of calculations and plans, and if your feelings figured anywhere in them, you'd have to be pretty sure about what you felt first. Chloe, of course, understood. Or tried her best to.

The moment Chloe was talking about, you remember it so clearly. And until now, you realize, you're not sure if you feel the same way. But you're older and wiser and now you know spur-of-the-moment decisions won't kill you (because how else would you explain you and Jesse?). So you simply answer the first thing that comes to your head.

"I think back then I wanted you too," you start. "And you're right, because I'll never stop being a tiny bit in love with you either. Not in that way that I'd leave Jesse and ask you to elope, but...you know. You'll always be that little possibility I'd be scared to explore because our friendship is too valuable to risk."

Chloe's nodding, a smile lighting up her features. "You have such a way with words, Bree."

"So I've been told." You recall Beca complimenting you a month ago, and you feel yourself blushing a little.

"Well, like I said, the offer still stands." Chloe stands. "If ever things with Jesse don't work out and you're still single after you hit menopause, we're forcibly taking you in. You, me, Beca, we can be spinsters together."

You half-laugh, half-frown at the mental image. What comes out is a choked sound. "Wrinkles everywhere. Very convincing argument."

Chloe leans in so close, you almost think she's going to kiss you until she steers at the last moment and goes for your ear instead. "Someday you'll really think about it," she whispers cryptically, before straightening up and walking off to her bedroom.

* * *

A few days pass and if anything, law school finals only get worse. You barely sleep, feverishly running through a hundred cases in your head, and when you're awake, you're trying to force in a hundred more for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

It helps that Chloe and Beca are almost in the same state. For some reason Chloe is really bent on being the top of her med class. Not that she's not already on top of it with minimal effort – Chloe is the one person you'd freely admit is smarter than you occasionally – but she's going the extra five hundred miles, like she's trying to get into Harvard or something. Beca, you are surprised to note, is also making an effort with her studies at Barden. It turns out she's been spending too much time between Bellas practice and her girlfriend and the finals were her last chance of getting by.

The three of you convene mornings at the dining table, not even saying a word to each other as you hunch over breakfast. (Except you don't hunch – you sit like an English madam, quietly stirring your tea until it gets cold.) You send Jesse away a little more often now because any distraction drives you crazy. (You soften the blow by telling him he'd just give you a lot of trouble, because he always found you most irresistible when you're serious.) You try to avoid Chloe's room because you're a little afraid the couple inside it doing marriage-y things with each other would send you over the edge. Really, the only people who should be occupying your mind now are law professors and that smug little slut who's second in class. No room for looking away politely (and painfully), for feeding the empty maw inside you, for _jealousies_.

So you're understandably on breaking point one evening when you come out of your room for a breather and join Beca and Chloe on the couch. Chloe's watching _New Girl_, too exhausted to even laugh. Beca's half-asleep, eyes fixed on her girlfriend but not really seeing her, in that way people do when they're hungry and tired.

You try to restore order. "Did anyone think of getting food?"

Chloe looks at Beca like she's her new self-appointed guardian. Alt girl shakes her head no.

"Aca-perfect. I want Thai food. Nobody object," you say sharply, seeing Beca start to open her mouth. You dial a number on your phone, bark a few words on it and settle on the couch, pushing away Chloe's legs to make space. "Delivery's in thirty minutes."

The two women look at you like they're seeing you in a brand new light. "You're our hero, Bree," Chloe mumbles, dragging you down with one arm and kissing your cheek. "What would we do without you?"

"Starve," you snap. "Get off, you're ruining my hair."

Chloe lets you go with a grin and you settle down on the couch, back stiff as a rod, trying to engage yourself in New Girl. Out of the corner of your eye, Chloe's reaching for Beca. _Ugh, not again._ You focus all your willpower on understanding the episode. Cece is cancelling her wedding to Shivrang because she wants Schmidt, but Schmidt already has Elizabeth and – _gah, threesomes are a thing now,_ you think before you catch yourself. Improper thoughts. Improper thoughts.

Speaking of improper thoughts, you feel the couch rocking in a way that it shouldn't. Sure enough, you look around and see Chloe's back arching off the seat while Beca surreptitiously nibbles on the exposed part of the redhead's throat. Before you know it, you're seeing red (you're pretty sure it's not just Chloe's hair) and –

"STOP IT!"

Your eyes widen because the words slip from your mouth too fast. Chloe and Beca separate like they've been burned and hang their heads like reprimanded children, looking anywhere but at you.

"Why can't you keep your hands off each other?" _I am so tired of trying to look away._ "You're always touching in public places and it's even worse when you're here in the living room because_ fuck me_, does that couch have some sort of pheromone I don't know about?" _I want this for us too. _"And you're always making these little noises – these little _gasps _– and it annoys me to be within a five-mile radius of you two so get. A. Fucking. Room!" _Because seeing you together is just tearing me apart._

Stony silence. Chloe minutely inches away from Beca, leaving a gap between them. You take a deep breath, willing yourself to not even think of vomiting.

Beca, always the boldest of you three, speaks up. "I – I'm sorry, Aubrey. That was insensitive of us."

"Please stop swearing," Chloe adds in a small voice, because she knows you only swear when you're really, really angry. "Would you like us to call Jesse?"

You clear your throat, trying to regain your composure. "No. I'm fine." You stand up and walk away as stately as you can. By instinct you end up in the kitchen of all places and start dry-heaving on the sink. But you haven't eaten anything all day, so nothing comes out but bitter bile and some choice teardrops you wipe away as soon as they appear. _There is really, really no room for jealousies._

* * *

Chloe and Beca barely breathe around you the entire week, and while it bothers you to a certain extent, it somehow works as well. You now have perfect reason to hole up in your room until it's time for meals and preparing for class. Otherwise, you ignore all calls and knocks on your door, as well as the churning emptiness that only seemed to get stronger inside you.

Surprisingly the only face you're willing to see is Jesse's. He isn't Beca and he isn't Chloe, and while you feel a different kind of hurt (you refuse to call it guilt) when he's around, you've been together for almost a year that he's become one of your closest confidantes. The next afternoon he turns up while you're in the doorway fumbling with the apartment key, and you drop everything to clasp him against you as tightly as you can. He runs a hand through your hair and kisses your forehead.

"Whoa, I thought you said I'd be a distraction."

"I really, really need a friend right now." You've already had one moment of weakness, so why not just say it out loud?

He listens carefully on your bed while you pace back and forth, trying to give him the most coherent version of what happened the previous week. (Of course, you don't say it all stemmed from jealousy.) He stands up, takes your hand, and guides you gently on the bed beside him.

"First of all, it's me," he says gently, holding your face in his hands. He was so close and you could smell his aftershave, mild and almost minty. "You don't have to defend yourself to me, Bree."

"I was really stupid. I mean, who would be bothered by a little PDA? Nobody. Just me." You close your eyes, sigh, and open them again. "Tell me what to do."

"Hey, I love your old-fashioned values," Jesse jokes, and you try to smile. "No one can tell you what you can and can't want, Aubrey. If you hate PDA, just own it and to hell with them. Besides, you've been studying all month. You were tired and you didn't mean to chew them out. They know that. So just talk to them, let them apologize, say sorry as well. That'll end it."

"You always know what to say," you reply, and you mean it. Sure, you may not be enamored with him, but at least you love him enough as a friend to recognize how perceptive he is. Suddenly aware of the proximity of your bodies, the throbbing emptiness inside you rapidly makes itself known. You instantly act to make it go away by crashing your lips against Jesse's, running your hands on his chest in such a way that you know will drive him mad.

It works. Jesse leans over you until your back hits the bed. Before his fingers even touch the button of your shirt, though, he asks, "Are you sure? Because I might be interrupting your studying," and he says it not to tease you, but because he really means it. It gives you a little pang. At the last moment this guy was still trying not to be a nuisance to you.

"I'm taking a break tonight. Fuck me senseless." It's all you need to say to get Jesse all over you and minimal coaxing to give it to you _hard._ And you're grateful for the next few hours your mind and body blanks out – no Beca, no Chloe with her, no law books, no _nothing_.

* * *

You wake up after a while and Jesse's heavy, familiar body is not lying beside you. It's dark and you debate on whether to get dressed or not when you hear low voices at the door. You keep still, listening intently.

"Don't take it personally. She's just whacked from all that studying." Jesse's voice was almost apologetic.

"Does she know we're really, really sorry?" Chloe's voice sounded hoarse, like she'd been crying.

"Yeah. She just needed a few days by herself. It probably doesn't even have anything to do with what you guys did. You just triggered something in her that pushed her limit." Whoa, Jesse's spot-on familiarity with the Aubrey Posen programming is seriously starting to freak you out.

"You think she'll be okay?" You swear your heart skips a little at that voice, laced with so much concern. Beca's. "Is there anything we can do?"

"Well, for starters, stop treating her like she kicked your puppy," Jesse laughs quietly.

"I should've known! Bree's always trying to keep things normal. We should act like everything's cool and we have to show her we've got no hard feelings. Okay?" Chloe says, and Beca apparently grunts as a response.

"Right. Give her time, don't make her feel weird, and she'll bring it up herself when she's ready." The door creaks as it swings on its hinges, and Jesse speaks again. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a lady to keep warm." The door closes with a silent thud, and Jesse's settling behind your back, spooning you in his arms.

You try to quiet the guilt welling up inside you. _God, this boy. He's perfect and I don't want him._


	3. Chapter 3

**This one's a little late, and I apologize if the writing seems sloppy. I had to move some things from here to the next chapter because it would get too long if I didn't. So you can expect more angst for Aubrey and a major life event come Chapter 4. I also realized there's no way I can reply directly to your kind reviews, so I'm doing that here.**

** aca-everything and Reda V: Jesse's had his fun in the actual movie so I can't say he'll have things go as easy for him in here. Hahaha I'm just cruel.**

** hurriCADE: I'm not sure how to approach the three-character thing yet, but I do have something in mind :)**

**To the rest: Second-person narration is really hard and I'm starting to get annoyed by how Aubrey needs to be petty and obsessive with everything, but thanks anyway. Also, while I can't promise GTA 5 in Aubrey's room, I will have something much better around Chapter 6. Have fun reading!**

* * *

Next morning happens to be a Saturday and for some reason Jesse's up the moment you are, trailing you to the kitchen. You were just laughing over his story of how Benji almost set his bed on fire when Chloe and Beca appear on the doorway. Chloe stops so abruptly that Beca, bringing up the rear, almost walks into her.

You look up curiously at Chloe. "What?"

"It's the first time I've seen you smile in ages," Chloe says, a little too innocently. She walks up and gives you a kiss to the cheek, then settles on the chair beside you. "Good morning, one and all!"

"Too loud, Chloe," Jesse says, though he has a fond grin on his face.

Beca's setting things on the counter – a glass of orange juice for Chloe, coffee for herself and Jesse. "And what would _Der Fuhrer_ have?" It's a moment before you realize she's staring at you with her trademark smirk.

"Didn't know I have a minion at my disposal, but tea would be fine." You give her a tentative smile to soften the insult, and then suddenly, Chloe and the two of you are speaking at the same time.

"We're very –"

"Aubrey, I –"

"I've been really –"

You realize what the three of you are doing and all of you stop at exactly the same time. Jesse's now looking at each one of you with amusement. You take a deep breath and start. "Sorry."

"Don't," Chloe says. "Our fault."

"Sorry too," Beca adds.

"Save it."

"Still mad?" Chloe asks.

"Nah," you answer, and you mean it. The moment right after your little outburst last week, you knew there was no reason to be angry; after all, Chloe and Beca were doing what all other normal couples do, and it wasn't their problem if you are the only person not okay with it.

"Won't do it again," Beca offers.

"Not in front of you anyway," Chloe giggles a little.

"No, carry on," you disagree. "I was stressed, and snapped."

"PDA's okay?" Beca sounds a little surprised, and you're willing to bet she didn't think you would be this easy to talk to.

"Just don't take off clothes around me," you answer. Part of you is screaming to prohibit Chloe and Beca's displays of affection, but your rational side knows you would just make a dent in your friendship if you ask them to do something that would serve no one but your jealousy.

And you were never a person to risk friendship over your own stupid feelings.

"Resolved?" Chloe asks, and all of you, with the exception of Jesse, nod. "Group hug!" She leaps off her seat to drag Beca and you into a hug that seemed more like cutting off your circulations with her arms.

"That was a conversation?" Jesse mock-gasps. "If I didn't know any better I'd say that was three dudes talking."

Beca chucks a teabag at him in response and you think, _this is okay_. Maybe you could all live like this forever. Not forever, of course, but until you decide to break up with Jesse or Beca proposes to Chloe or...you don't even want to think about it.

* * *

A Posen's life is never okay. Or so your mother had you believe. The woman was just as bad as your father – a former actress prone to bouts of depression, she hated children and did nothing but go out with other glamorous society women, only to come back drunk and bitter.

You were told this around six years ago, when you announced you're going to college in a state a thousand miles away. Your father flew into a rage right then and there at the breakfast table, and your other siblings cowered visibly. You try to hold yourself steady and say everything's arranged – you have a scholarship, you're going to live on campus premises, everything's going to be okay. And your insane mother, already busy polishing off bourbon at seven a.m., comes right out and says it: _A Posen's life is never okay, sweetie._

You're dead set on believing the stupid bitch after today.

It's the last week of classes at Emory and you don't even bother to come in. (Apparently it pays to be overeager, as you completed your final requirements a few weeks before while your classmates are scrambling to do so just now.) You were lying in bed with Jesse, watching some romantic movie on his laptop, but you could tell he wasn't interested – judging by the way he was looking at a spot at the corner of the screen without reacting to what was going on with the plot.

He suddenly turns to you, staring long enough for you to feel self-conscious. "Jesse?"

"We've been together for a year," he says. You nod warily, unsure where this is going.

"I love you," he continues, and there's suddenly a huge lump in your throat. _Don't do this today. Not ever. _It kills you when things come out of left field. You're unprepared right now with no plans and scripts to guide you. Because today of all days, you just know Jesse Swanson and you are about to break up. And all the breakup scenarios you had in your head before were radically different from what's happening at the moment.

There's a long moment where you try to open your mouth and tell him you love him back or something. _Anything._ The moment stretches out to a minute and the expression on his face changes from openly sincere to brooding.

"You still don't love me back."

_Still?_ You lean back on the pillows, waiting for him to explain himself.

"I'm guilty of trying to make you fall in love with me. It was obvious from the start that you didn't want me back, but I was selfish and hounded you in the hopes that you'd change your mind." He chuckles darkly. "That never worked, even in movies."

"No," you finally say. "It was my call. I should have stopped you earlier before you went in too deep. And I am a self-centered bitch who kept stringing you along instead. The worst is, I only thought of doing something about it now, when it's clear to me that you deserve someone better."

He takes your face in his hands and inches closer.

"My girl, Aubrey," he says, trying to smile. "When I tell my grandchildren about 'the one that got away', I'd describe her as 'that tea-drinking, balls-cutting blonde lawyer who is really good with words.'"

"Aca-fucking hell," you mutter, slapping his arm mildly. "You're breaking up with a girl who fucked you over for a year and you're still sweet about it? See, this is what I'm saying about you deserving better!"

"You said it yourself," Jesse grins and tucks loose strands of hair behind your ear. "You're breaking up with a girl who fucked you for over a year –"

"Hey, I said 'who fucked you over for a year'. You interchanged 'over' and 'for' so you're changing the meaning –"

"Seriously, Bree, I'm trying to break up with you here." Jesse smirks and you wonder where he's even getting the jokes and restraint. If you were him you'd have probably screamed yourself hoarse and clawed out the face of the other person. "Again. You said it yourself. You're breaking up with a girl who fucked you for over a year and you're still sweet about it – now why wouldn't I be? Guys would kill for a year's worth of fucks, lady!"

This was the last straw. Something wells up inside of you and before you know it, you're sobbing unstoppably, burying your face on the crook of Jesse's neck. He automatically holds you closer. The tears come too fast and in such huge volumes that you actually wonder if vomiting is better, because Jesse's shirt is soaked in a couple of minutes.

"What isn't real must be a lie. Yes or no?" you ask, not moving from his embrace. Your voice comes out with a slight rasp.

"Yes," Jesse answers quietly, removing your scrunchie, unraveling your hair and stroking it to calm you down.

"Rom-com movies are real events. Yes or no?" You fight back a sob, and repeat. "Yes or no?"

"No."

"Then pretend that the next five hours is a rom-com movie." You look at the clock; it's four in the afternoon. You take a deep breath and give him something he should've had a long time ago but you never had to give. "I love you."

"I love you too. Breakup sex?" he asks playfully, and you pinch him in the tummy through his shirt. "Hey! I'm just trying to use up my year's quota of screws."

"Do what you want. It's your rom-com," you say, straddling him and taking off your blouse in one fluid motion. You wipe your eyes with it and allow Jesse to have his way with you. After a year of fooling around with his feelings, it's probably the least you can do.

* * *

It's ten in the evening and you're sitting in the couch, dazed. The house was dim and empty – Jesse had left with the promise that you'll be good friends after moving on – and the only source of light is the television you turned on but muted. You're deciding whether to curl up into a ball or go out and get drunk when the door opens.

Judging by the heavy footfalls and clanking of those stupid little chains in her leather jacket, it's Beca. "Aubrey? Fuck, why's it so dark?"

"Where's Chloe?" Your voice is grating from having cried for two straight hours. "Don't...don't open the lights." Your hand gropes for the night light on the study table, and the living room is soon dimly lit in orange.

"Emory medical mission in Brookhaven, remember?" she answers, throwing her boots off and joining you on the couch. You groan because you did forget – Chloe was coming back tomorrow morning. "You want me to call her?"

"Don't. I texted her after Jesse left but she hasn't replied. She's probably busy." You look at the grocery bag Beca set on the table. "Why are you here? Shouldn't you be comforting Jesse?"

"Jeez, Aubrey," Beca rolls her eyes. "Jesse's out drinking with the Trebles. We'll talk in the morning. Did it occur to you that I'm here to hold you through the night?"

You couldn't see her expression in the weak glow of the TV but you're pretty sure she's being sarcastic. Through your sadness, though, your insides still couldn't help but do a somersault at the thought of Beca holding you. "Fine. Whatever. " You remain slumped on the couch, eyes closed.

Beca's moving around, and you hear the rustling of the grocery bag. "I brought ice cream. Chloe mentioned in passing that this is your favorite, I hope it still is." You open your eyes and glance at the coffee table, expecting a tub of butter pecan. It was. "Some merlot, if I remember your drink correctly...cheap kind, though. I didn't have much money on me when I went out."

You're fighting the urge to swoon, but you settle for reaching out and ruffling Beca's hair. She dances away. "You're spot-on so far, Bilbo."

"Fuck off my hair, aca-bitch." Beca smooths her locks, trying to recover from your disrespect of her badassery. "I was about to add that we can order pizza, but you're acting up –"

"Pizza's good," you cut in. "And then you're staying in this couch to watch mind-fuck movies with me, because unlike Chloe and the rest of the lousy female populace, _The Notebook_ is not my just-dumped go-to movie."

Beca groans, but she gets up to order the pizza and even fetches you a blanket afterwards.

* * *

_Inception _is on its last ten minutes. You and Beca had emptied the wine bottle and the couple of pizza boxes, but not one has spoken after the arrival of pizza. The two of you are now drinking beers and your head's starting to get heavy.

Beca clears her throat. "Shall I get the ice cream, m'lady?" Without waiting for an answer, she gets up to find the ice cream and hands you a spoon. You open the tub and soon the two of you are quietly digging into cold, creamy butter pecan goodness.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Beca asks gently, and you notice how she subtly scoots closer, until her thigh is touching yours.

"No." Your answer is so abrupt she pulls back, trying not to let her surprise show. You immediately see this and so you push forward and tentatively lean your head on her shoulder.

She stiffens for a moment – you're sure you'd practically go to pieces if she shoved you away – and recovers, even guiding your head towards a spot below her collarbone so she can timidly put a protective arm around you. _Thank god._ Chloe apparently taught her some semblance of tenderness.

"He was _so_ kind. Like, what the fuck, dude? He's dumping me and he's being goofy about it though it's obvious his heart is aca-fucking breaking. We even had breakup sex –"

"Uh, Aubrey," Beca tried to interrupt, "too much informa –"

"Shut up," you snarl. Beca's grinning now, probably thinking you're a hilarious drunk, although you're sure you're not doing anything to look like it. "Breakup sex is absolute new shit, Beca. No guy does that anymore. You break up and it's all shouting, threats, tears, slaps, sometimes lawsuits. Every guy has an ego and when you dump them they act like banished fucking Loki. Except Jesse. He's fucking perfect. Well, not in my dad's standards, but still. I was, like, if only we have fucking met earlier!"

"You're using too much cuss," Beca says, grimacing. "I therefore conclude you're drunk."

"Nope," and you vigorously shake your head to prove it. She blurs a little, and you wonder why your vision's suddenly off.

"Wait – what do you mean, if only you and Jesse met earlier?"

You groan inwardly, because Beca's not seeing the _obvious._ "Then I haven't fallen for someone else."

"Whaaaa..." Beca's eyes are round, semi-blue gray orbs in the gloom. You clamp a tight grip on her wrist.

"Do not tell Jesse or I'll cut off your fucking hand."

"Jesus, Aubrey, I'm not some gossip. We're lesbros now."

"I am not a lesbian," you grind out through your teeth.

"Wow, you just said that like we're lepers," Beca laughs. "Are you a homophobe? Wait, how does that even work? You have a bisexual best friend and half the Bellas are probably closet lesbians –"

"I am not a homophobe! Why are you a dick in every conversation we have?"

"Oops, I'm forgetting you were just dumped. I'm supposed to hold your hand through it or something. Sorry." You lift your head from Beca's chest and see her wearing a smirk, although you somehow know she meant the words.

"It's okay," you mumble, scooping some more ice cream, not looking at her. "I know you're just here because Chloe asked you, but thanks anyway."

"Who said Chloe asked me? Dropping by to check on you..." Beca's voice is suddenly lower in volume and you glance at her to hear the next words, "was purely my idea."

You search her face for any sort of indication she was lying. There was none.

* * *

_Disconcerting._ This is your first thought when you wake up in the darkness.

Then you realize it's not all dark. The lamp on the study table is still open, casting muted orange hues at a corner of the living room. The TV is closed and the _Inception_ DVD is lying on top of the coffee table. Someone had cleaned up because you could swear you left pizza boxes and bottles on top of it and now it's spotless.

You look around and realize you're very comfortable; apparently you're lying on the couch, head on Beca's lap, your blanket snugly wrapped around you. Beca's half-seated, head slumped in a throw pillow on the arm of the couch, sound asleep.

_Wait, when – or how – did that happen?_

You lift your head a little to observe her face; it shows nothing, just the peaceful expression of someone who finally had time to rest. You don't know how long you've been staring until a rustling from the kitchen makes you turn; Chloe emerges from the kitchen in a shirt and cut-off shorts, rubbing her eyes. She spots you and walks closer and you're suddenly worried about how _wrong_ you and Beca must look right now.

"Hey Bree," she whispers so as not to wake Beca, and you breathe a sigh of relief, knowing your fears were groundless. How Chloe was okay with you lying on her girlfriend's lap is totally beyond your understanding, but then again it must have something to do with how touchy-feely she is with people.

Chloe crouches and forces herself to fit beside you on the couch. This was nothing new; Chloe had a habit of cuddling in a way that's she's practically draped over you, not caring if you can't breathe and ruining the last semblance of personal bubble you might have. You've gotten used to it and you don't even flinch when Chloe's breasts push against yours as she wraps her arms around you. The air you're breathing is suddenly thick with the scent of lavender.

"Hey," you murmur back, watching her lay her head on the remaining space of Beca's lap. Beca doesn't seem to notice, just slumbering right on. "What time did you arrive?"

"Just around four a.m." She presses her forehead against yours. "You okay?"

You shake your head no. You're feeling numb right now, worn out from the day's events and all that effort of not crying. But breakups are breakups and while you didn't exactly love Jesse you spent so much time on him, gotten so used to his presence, that you're not sure how losing him would work out for you tomorrow.

Chloe tightens her arms around you – you don't even understand how it's possible given your proximity – and you give a small noise of protest. "Don't. It hurts all over."

Chloe's eyes go wide. "Oh my god, did he hit you?!" she hisses.

"No. Everything went rather well." You see she's not entirely convinced with your answer, as her eyes are raking over you in the darkness, trying to scope your physical condition.

"Then why do you have a hell of a lot of bruises?" She holds up one of your wrists, where purple indentations of Jesse's fingers can still be seen. Her tone is demanding and anxious at the same time. She gently runs her fingers through your collarbone; you inhale sharply because it stings and she's frowning at the teeth marks. "Aubrey..."

"Breakup sex," you murmur in the tiniest voice possible, and Chloe frowns again, not sure if she heard you right. "Breakup sex. That's how well everything went."

Even in the shadows, it's obvious that Chloe's unsure how to take your statement. She's half-smiling and trying to school her face into seriousness at the same time. "Breakup sex? Is there such a thing?"

"Jesse apparently thinks there is. I've always thought make-up sex is the best, but breakup sex trumps that now." You realize what you just said and clamp a hand to your mouth. The alcohol is obviously still working on you. "God, that was inappropriate. Sorry."

"You're perfectly entitled to say whatever you want. You're heartbroken." Chloe gives you a light kiss on the forehead and hugs you. "So...it seems you and Beca are best buddies now. Should I be jealous?"

You feel the blood rush to your head – the first sign of panic – but you look up and Chloe's smiling, for real. "Jeez Bree, you need to relax. Though I will rip your vocal chords out if you ever replace me as your best friend."

"Not gonna happen. And certainly not with this smurf."

Chloe grins. "Everything will be fine. We're going to be three domesticated ladies who happily bake and do housework over the summer while men drool at our windows. Like a musical."

"One: I will not allow myself to be domesticated like some 60's housewife. There is a thing called women empowerment. And two: men drooling at our windows sounds like the beginning of a horrible slasher movie."

The redhead just snuggles closer to you, sighing in your ear. "Go back to sleep. We're not going anywhere."

You don't know how you manage to fall asleep again – the couch, after all, is tiny and nothing compared to your bed – but it's unexpectedly easy, with Chloe and Beca keeping you warm.


	4. Chapter 4

**I got a little too excited about writing this so I guess this fanfic will go longer than I planned. I know I promised a game-changer around this chapter, but it got pushed to Chapter 5 because I just can't leave out this fluff and angst bit. I just feel it's important, you know? This gives people more insight on how Chaubrey slowly realizes they have a lot of chemistry with each other and whatnot. Chloe is not trying to cheat on Beca but it's just that ever since she has a special bond with Aubrey, and I want this to be clear on my readers. I'm just OC that way.**

**Anyway, please, please hang on. I swear Chapter 5 will have smashing developments. Try to have fun and post suggestions/reviews if you can :)**

* * *

Jesse couldn't have picked a better timing.

It's summer, with no school to use as a distraction. The first week you end up cleaning the entire apartment, even Chloe's room, because yours has always been spotless and there's nothing else to work on. It doesn't help that Beca and Chloe are often hovering around you. It's sweet and annoying at the same time, particularly for Chloe, who has taken to hounding you even if you're just innocently watching TV on the couch.

"Bree?"

Your feet are propped up on Chloe's lap and she's drawing haphazard circles on your knee. It's ticklish yet comforting, and you don't stop her because the action is familiar – she's been doing this ever since you shared a dorm back in freshman year. "What?"

"It's been two weeks since...you know. Don't you want to talk about it?"

"It's not Voldemort. You can call it by its name – the breakup." You heave out a sigh and look at Chloe, who has taken to rubbing the length of your legs with her palm, not looking at you. "I said everything that night. There's nothing to talk about."

"You haven't told me why you two broke up," she replies, in an almost accusatory tone.

You look around for Beca – she's mixing in Chloe's room – and you're suddenly grateful because surprise, she hasn't told Chloe the reason. "It just doesn't feel right."

"Is this about Major James Alastair Posen's standards again? The whole thing about Jesse not being in the army or something?" Chloe's all too familiar with your dating choices from college; she's probably recalling the five or so guys you dumped simply because 'my father will not approve of them anyway'. Not to mention that they didn't stir anything in you – because for a long time, nobody really has. Until the dense and extremely maddening Beca Mitchell came along.

"That's it?" Chloe's suddenly pushing off your feet with a disgusted look on her face, and you realize you haven't answered her at all.

"No!" You thrust your feet back on her lap, hoping she would resume touching you. It's soothing and comforting and you don't want to read too much into the action, but Chloe's hand is just _warm_ and it's calming you down. Chloe seems to get the cue and restarts stroking your legs, albeit hesitantly. "Jesse's great, maybe the best guy I'll ever date. But I don't want him."

It's a slight revelation, how Chloe is not even batting an eyelash at all over this. "For a moment I thought it's your dad. Honestly, he's got his ideal guy worked out even better than most teenage girls. Tall, dark, handsome, military, capable, and big in dick..." she smirks and you give her a small kick, trying not to break out into a grin. "What? Every time you go out on a date before it's all I hear from you."

"You're not surprised about Jesse?" You still haven't completely gotten over at her lackluster reaction.

"No. He's too...tame. You want someone edgier." Chloe's hand slows down and maybe you're imagining it, but her fingers are gradually ghosting over your skin. It's the first time Chloe touched you this way and you close your eyes at the sensation. "Like me. Or Beca."

"W-what?" You inhale deeply, aware that goosebumps are running all over your legs. It's because you're finally sure what Chloe is doing is deliberate; every stroke is meant to be tantalizingly light and it's working you up in ways you can't even understand.

And then her last statement finally sinks in and there's an abrupt change in energy in the air and you don't know how Chloe can be so damn _oblivious_ to it – or maybe she isn't, because she just absently continues caressing a little bit higher up your thigh, enjoying her effect on your system. She looks up to meet your gaze and you can swear there's an unknown, dangerous glint in her eye that you've only seen in brief flashes before.

Chloe hums, almost_ growls_, in this insanely low voice that she probably acquired after her nodes operation and you can't help but gulp audibly. "Not so smart now, Posen, huh?"

"Isn't it a little, uh, too early to invite me to a ménage a trois?" _The best thing to do, really, is just to pull your legs away._ _One tug and it's over_. But Chloe's touch is short-circuiting your brain and – _just like Beca_ – it's infuriating how Chloe seems not to notice at all, even if your body is making all these exasperatingly huge signals your mind can't control.

Chloe shakes her head minutely; she lifts her hand from your legs and you almost beg her to put it back. But she looks at you again and the glint in her eye is replaced by something that vaguely resembles nervousness. _And Chloe Beale is never nervous._ "Oh, _god_. I didn't mean to...is that how it sounded like? I'm – Bree, I'm sorry. You're welcome to...Ugh, I am so stupid!" She gestures down to your feet, agitated. "I went too far. I'm sorry."

You close your eyes and finally do what you should have done earlier – drag your legs away from Chloe's lap with an almost superhuman effort, ignoring the throbbing somewhere _down there_. Chloe's looking positively flustered now, her brilliant blue eyes wide with alarm.

"It's okay," you say mechanically, trying not to give in to your manic urge of grabbing Chloe right then and there. You almost want to hug her, wipe the apprehension off her face because you felt something in her hands too, but you're too scared you'd do more than hugging. You really might end up seizing her instead and slamming her down to the couch and you can just imagine it – biting her ear and kissing her neck and making her pay for activating this foreign hunger and –_shit, that's lesbian activity. The kind that I usually dream of, starring Beca._

And so you mumble some excuse that sounds incoherent even to yourself, take one last look at Chloe's apologetic face, and do your best to get out of there.

* * *

_"Hello?"_

"Stacie!" You never really thought you and the busty brunette were particularly close, but locked up in the safety of your room, away from Chloe's intoxicating presence, Stacie's voice was the most welcome thing right now.

_"Hey Aubrey. Heard about you and Jesse. I'm sorry."_

"It's okay." You give out a huge sigh – it seems you've been doing nothing but sighing lately – and say the words you thought you'd never utter in your life. "About that. I need a distraction."

_"Straight to the point, as usual."_ Then Stacie fully grasps the meaning of your words – you could almost hear her mind working – and she adds, _"Wait, what?!"_

"You heard me," you deadpan. "Never thought I'd see the day, but I need a wingman or whatever it is right now."

There's a long silence. Then, _"It's not like I don't want to help you, Aubrey, but this doesn't sound like you at all."_

"I'm trying out something new."

_"Right."_ Some crackling, and you assume Stacie's sighing as well. _"Oh well. I can take you to this party we're required to attend tonight. Meet me at our sorority house at eight if you're so sure."_

"I'll be there." You'd actually be anywhere just to have someone take care of your stupid urges right now. Stacie was probably having a field day at how you finally decided to your own 'Hunter' free. "Thanks for helping me out. And, Stacie?"

_"Yeah?"_

"Don't tell Beca and Chloe."

* * *

Aubrey Posen's Guide to Moving On:

1. Get drunk.

2. Take home some guy and let him fuck the lesbian out of you.

3. Rinse and repeat.

* * *

So this is your life now, one week and five different guys later:

Stacie is your new best friend. She doesn't pry and has recently learned not to flinch with worry when you appear at her sorority house every evening. You're both well aware that what you're doing is not in the Aubrey Posen rulebook, so she eases you into her kind of scene with baby steps. She introduces you to frat boys she knows personally – "So we know who we'll castrate if they try and fuck you up," she assures confidently – and gives you enough space to get to know your guy while making sure you're not getting too wasted to be taken advantage of.

Then you go back to your room with your flavor of the night, because even if you've stooped this low you're still Aubrey Posen and there's no way you're going to do the walk of shame from some guy's dorm. You barely care when you step in the apartment and Beca throws you dirty looks from her laptop, or when Chloe gasps from the couch at whoever male visitor you drag in. You're supposedly heartbroken and you're perfectly entitled to do what you have to just to get by.

Mornings are the worst because your stupid brain wiring still wakes you up at six. And one look at the random guy you shagged lying on your covers is enough to make you run to the bathroom and puke.

You're pretty confident you're not knocked up. It's just your body, trained to revolt against your sleeping around.

By the third day of this you've run out of fucks to give. You nudge your bedmate awake, throw him his pants and shirt, and whisk him out of the apartment without so much as a glance. You spend the rest of the day going about your life normally (_well, not so normal,_ judging from the way Beca and Chloe keeps glancing at you apprehensively) until it's evening once again and you prepare to go to Stacie's.

The eighth day of your move-on propaganda, you're puking in the bathroom again when a hand rests on the small of your back. You jump a bit, but then recognize Beca on the reflection in the mirror above the sink. She gingerly rubs your back up and down, only stopping when you've rinsed out your mouth and turned around to reach for the towel behind her.

She doesn't move from where she's standing, and you're suddenly aware of how close she is, so close you could smell her perfume that you couldn't really identify but still makes you feel heady anyway. And then you remember that she has a girlfriend, who happens to be your best friend, sleeping in the next room.

"Making your girl breakfast again, Mitchell?" you say while drying your face, in an attempt to break the awkward silence.

Beca shakes her head. "I was asleep and then I heard something out here, so I checked. You kind of left the door open, so I just, you know, walked in."

You hang the towel on the rack and this time she steps back, but only to assess your condition better. "Dude," she exhales. "You look like hell. Can I get you anything?"

You blink because Beca not being sarcastic still takes you by surprise. Granted, she's been totally sweet the night you and Jesse broke up, but this considerate, caring person is someone you still have to get used to. She doesn't wait for your answer; instead she just puts a hand on your back again and steers you towards the couch. She disappears and comes back after some while with a steaming mug, only to find you pinching the bridge of your nose.

"Hey," she says, setting the mug down on the coffee table. "I got you chamomile tea. It's supposed to make you relax or something."

You keep your eyes closed and fall back on the couch. "Thanks. Although I can't really relax until I kick out that guy on my bed."

Beca grins. "That's easily fixed." She walks off to your room and very soon after, the guy in your bed is running out to the hallway in a great hurry, still buttoning his jeans. Beca comes out and smirks at the door slamming shut.

"What did you do?" You're half-worried that Beca might get in trouble, but half-impressed that she managed to do in three minutes what you do in around twenty.

"Told him he just fucked my girlfriend." Your heart audibly beats faster and you hurriedly take a sip of the tea, even while knowing it wouldn't calm you at all. Beca seemed blissfully ignorant of the effect of her words, rubbing her hands together with a self-satisfied grin. "I can make you pancakes too, if you want."

You hold in a smile. "Gee, where's the badass I used to know?"

"My reputation's safe and sound. No one's gonna believe I offered you _anything_," Beca snarks. "Hey! It's too early for your bitch autopilot to take over!"

You can't help but laugh and fling one of the throw pillows at her. "Go to sleep. You're missing out on Chloe's cuddling."

For a few moments she looks right at you, an unreadable expression on her face. Then she says, "You too," smirks, and walks away.

* * *

The ninth morning, you emerge from the bathroom after vomiting bitter bile. Everything you've brought up the last few days smells of tequila or vodka and you're wondering how you could make sure you're not at the risk of getting alcohol poisoning. Maybe Chloe would know. You swing the door open and jump at the sight of the aforementioned redhead standing right outside.

"What the hell, Chloe Marie Beale?! Why are you standing there like some murderer?!"

But Chloe just looks at you and pulls you wordlessly to the couch. You kind of have an idea where this is going based on the expression in her face. Sure enough, Beca's standing in the living room, looking expectantly at you and then at an envelope in her hand. Chloe gently nudges you to the couch and clears her throat.

"You guys forgot the Intervention banner," you observe mildly, watching Chloe fidget with a similar-looking envelope she took from her shorts pocket. Beca raises her eyebrows, obviously having no idea what you were referring to. "Seriously, Beca? Ugh, this isn't at all original. It's from _How I Met Your Mother_."

"Glad to see you're sober enough to remember the show," Chloe tries to joke, her blue eyes remaining solemn. "So...um...we're worried about you, Bree."

You can't help but roll your eyes. "I'm fine."

"No," Beca says, her expression mirroring Chloe's. "You're sleeping around."

"I really do appreciate the concern, but may I point out that this is 2013 and that's normal." The words come out of you as an involuntary snap. The couple just glances at each other and you sigh, knowing nothing you say would stop them anyway. "Just read the damn letters."

Chloe neatly opens her envelope, unfolds the paper inside, and begins.

"Bree, you're doing the Fuckathon. The exact same thing I did pre-Beca, when I had those stupid flings out of boredom. Back then you kindly asked me to stop because, in your own words, 'it's self-destructive and never ends well.' Self-destruction isn't your thing, Bree. We know you're trying to cope but this is just going against those values you've always stood for. We don't want to see you regretting a lot of things. You can talk to us. You're our rock, but that doesn't mean you don't need help and hugs once in a while. Love, Chloe."

You keep your face neutral, although Chloe's words had deeply touched you. "Beca?"

Beca rips apart her envelope – almost tearing the paper inside in the process – and reads, her voice quavering slightly from the early hours of the morning.

"Uh, Chloe told me to write you a letter expressing my feelings or stuff like that. I think it's cheesy, but she's withdrawing some privileges if I don't do this, so..." Beca coughs a bit at Chloe's slight smirk and continues. "Aubrey, your behavior is scarier than usual. I'll trade a year of bickering with you than a week of you, uh, fornicating with men you have just met – "

"Fornicating with..." You shake your head with a laugh. "How archaic. It's called a one-night stand, Beca."

Chloe chuckles halfheartedly. "Let her finish." She nods at Beca, who reads on.

"Anyway, we kind of miss the Aubrey who raises hell over a tiny speck of dust and who spends Friday evenings watching telly on the couch like a grandma. So please get your head out of your ass, because we're not quite ready to be godmothers yet." Chloe glares at Beca with a horrified expression, but you just grimace at Beca's audacity and let her drone on. "Besides, from the last time I've been to your room, it sure stinks like a brothel. You're already a bitch, and we don't want to see you becoming a whore too. We out, the awesome Beca Mitchell."

"You actually signed your name like that?" You walk over and tug the letter out of Beca's hands, chuckling upon seeing the words on paper. Chloe looked mortified. "Sorry Chlo, but I like the bad cop act better."

Chloe elbows Beca hard in the ribs. "Babe, that was really harsh!"

"Aubrey seems to like it." Beca raises her hands in self-defense.

A loud thud from your bedroom makes the three of you look around. You vaguely remember having someone under your covers before you came running to the bathroom – _oh, shit_ – and sure enough, the door to your bedroom opens.

None of you were expecting the person who came out, though.

"Sorry for interrupting," says the girl, running a hand through her hair. "Thanks for last night, Aubrey."

You only nod dumbly, your eyes taking in her appearance: disheveled brown hair, heavy eyeliner on blue eyes, several ear and nose monstrosities, flannel shirt. You're pretty sure it wasn't a coincidence that this girl is a total cosplay of Beca. The girl stares around the three of you, decided the awkward atmosphere was too much, and let herself out with a motion to Aubrey to call her.

"Dude, that was a _dyke!_" Beca gasps as soon as Clone Beca was out the door.

You roll your eyes, unsure how or even why you should explain last night's menu, and say instead in the most acid voice possible, "Congratulations, you now know the different types of homosexuals."

Chloe's spluttering. "Please tell me that girl was just a lab partner you had to tutor overnight. Oh my god, it's fucking summer break. OH MY GOD YOU SLEPT WITH HER!"

You groan internally at this, but try to keep your jaw set. "Fine, aca-bitches, after your stupid little intervention I realized the error of my ways and I decided I will not sleep around as often as I should – I mean, as often as I did. Thank you." You move to walk briskly to your room, but Chloe grabs your arm, preventing your escape.

"What the hell, Bree? How come I didn't get the memo on Aubrey Posen's coming out?" Her voice betrayed disappointment and confusion and you wince at her words.

"It was a strictly-sorority party and there was a rather zero number of guys," you answer in the calmest, straightest voice you could muster. There's no need to mention you specifically asked Stacie to introduce you to the goth girl because she has the same poor clothing choices as Beca.

"Oh, good save, Posen," Beca says sarcastically, crossing her arms.

"I should've known Stacie was behind this," Chloe growls. "Please tell me that you were sober, you knew what you were doing, and you have no regrets. Oh my god –"

"Don't be overdramatic," you cut in. "I wasn't sober, but I certainly knew what I was doing. Listen, aca-girls. I understand your concern. Now that I know it bothers you, I will be more considerate and try not to disturb you with my...one night stands. I might even try my best to stop. But I can't assure you it's going to happen immediately, because from what you have been forgetting, _I was recently dumped_ and that's particularly excruciating for a Posen. I need time to get back on my feet. So thanks for caring, and let it be known that I have noted your sentiments."

Beca and Chloe looks at each other, and sighed almost in unison that you're almost sure they timed it. There is a long silence. Then Chloe steps closer and hugs you, and you're surprised at how fast you melt into her arms. You've actually missed her.

"Of course," Chloe breathes in your neck. "Just don't shut us out, Bree."

You nod quietly, feeling a bit guilty at how fast Chloe reined in the questions she's dying to ask and tried to respect your wish instead. You make a mental note to plan how to come clean to Chloe soon, because it continually amazes you how easily Chloe gives you the space and understanding you need. Chloe lifts her head to look at Beca, who is still slightly incredulous.

"Come here for the group hug, Mitchell," Chloe calls out. "Don't make Aubrey get you."

Reluctantly Beca walks toward you and Chloe throws an arm around her, forcing her between the two of you.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you for the reviews! They're the only things reminding me that this is still interesting and I'm not losing people just because it's full of angst or whatever. Believe me, this is the saddest and longest thing I've written in my life.**

Athyna DaughterofPosiedon, ItsLazyGurl, It's amusing because your comments made me realize that my side-cliffhangers are actually noted by people. Beca's using that clone information as ammo in future verbal spats with Aubrey.

SuperGirl06 Chloe is definitely hitting on Aubrey. It's funny how she's trying so hard not to move in on Aubrey cause she just broke up with Jesse and it's too soon.

witchkitty After this chapter, she still wouldn't find out. But soon. Maybe as soon as next chap? ;)

hurriCADE You've always been very supportive of this. Those parts are actually the hardest ones to write in the previous chapter, because I'm not fond of touchy-feeliness in real life and it was a bit ridiculous to describe something without having even experienced it that much. Thanks!

**Rates and reviews are very much welcome. Let's all write together a happy ending, people. Requests are also welcome!**

* * *

"I was thinking we could stay at my parents for awhile," Chloe says, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Get you away from Stacie."

A week after the intervention and you're seated close to Chloe on the couch again, reading a book while Chloe leaned on your shoulder. You feel her warm fingertips hovering on the side of your face and try your best not to back off, remembering the panic her hands brought you the last time. Fortunately (or unfortunately), Beca is seated nearby. The brunette was mixing on the coffee table instead of Chloe's room because Chloe's pouting that she never gets enough sunlight.

You don't quite follow the ginger's logic on how the living room atmosphere qualifies as sunlight, but Beca's here in all of her arrogant, breathtaking glory and that would probably hold Chloe's intoxicating caresses at bay.

"You say that like Stacie's this corrupted teenage boy your daughter must absolutely not see," Beca quips. "When are we going to see the 'rents?"

You raise your eyebrow at the apparent eagerness in Beca's voice. Chloe answers your unspoken question. "Oh, Mom and Dad adore Beca. She's a hit with the kids too."

You nod thoughtfully, recalling how Chloe's family were all like Chloe – socially graceful, immediately accepting and above all, touchy-feely. Having stayed with them often during holidays and breaks, the Beale household in Florida has been more of a home to you than your parents at Vermont. And while the Beales' southern charm and exuberance is sometimes too much for you, your visits have always been enjoyable. "Chlo, I'm not sure your family is capable of not adoring anybody. Even Oompa-Loompa here."

Chloe laughs and Beca tears off her headphones in annoyance. "Hey! I heard that. Besides, Chloe's folks done think I'm _mighty splendid_." Beca inflected some exaggerated Southern accent on the last sentence, and Chloe almost fell off her chair giggling.

You snort in disbelief. "Mighty splendid? Mark Twain much?"

"You're not the only one allowed to use big words here, Posen," Beca smirks. "And those are the exact words Chloe's dad used to describe me. I can't help but be awesome. Any parent would like me."

"Whoa, you're being overconfident there, tiger," you say back. _My dad would kill you if I ever take you home_. You adapt the same Southern accent. "Chloe's parents yonder done described me as a proper young 'un, they been saying I was a very smart lady – "

"Stop it," Chloe says breathlessly, chucking a pillow at you. "My parents do not talk like that at all!"

"Oh yes they do. I'm kind of surprised you don't speak like that, babe." Beca smiles at Chloe in a way that you could only describe as _romantic_, and your chest tightens slightly – _oh god, not this jealousy thing again_. You've often thought you're above jealousy, having never understood how it worked before, until a certain nasty little brunette came along. You think back to your previous relationships. It's somehow scary, how you've never felt this strongly for those guys you were with – or any other person, for that matter.

You're pulled back to the present by Beca's voice. "Earth to Aubrey."

"What?"

"I was asking if you want to come with us to Florida," Chloe says. "Mom's been asking about you. They haven't seen you for _ages_."

You smile, feeling guilty. In an obviously-vain effort to fall in love with Jesse (and partly because you can't bear to see Chloe and Beca together any more than you have to), you spent last year's holidays and spring break with the Swansons. "What did you tell them?"

"That you were with Jesse," Chloe answers, and for some reason, her cheeks turn pink.

"I think your exact words were, 'Jesse's family is currently turning her into a vampire and she's not supposed to go out in broad daylight anymore, so I doubt you'll see her again'," Beca quickly reveals, a shit-eating grin on her face.

You put on your sternest face and stare at Chloe, who was now completely red. "Wow, you seriously made me a Cullen?"

"I'm sorry!" Chloe squeaks, hiding her face behind another pillow. "I didn't know how else to explain your absence and you know how persistent my mom is. She knows you've had boyfriends before but you've never really allowed yourself to be brought home by any of them, so she was particularly curious."

"Great. Now your mom will ask me a barrage of questions about Edward Cullen and then bake me a cake or something." You cross your arms, already picturing how Chloe's mom would surely mollycoddle you the moment you say you've broken up with Jesse.

"Who the hell is Edward Cullen?" Beca asks, obviously not grasping the importance of the situation.

"The sparkly dude who you described as perpetually constipated," Chloe answers and Beca nods in understanding. "Relax, Bree. Relationships fail. My parents surely know that, and I promise I'll do the talking for you."

"Yeah, so stop making it sound like you got knocked up or something," Beca adds. "Though at the rate you're going, well..." You direct a kick at her shins, which she successfully evades with a triumphant laugh.

"Fine, fine, I'll come," you say, trying to make it sound like you have no choice, when in reality you actually miss Chloe's parents and siblings. "When?"

Chloe only smiles and you're a bit surprised she's not squealing with delight or dancing around or something. "I don't know. Next week?"

"You ask me to come along when you don't even have a plan yet?" You gasp theatrically. "Have you met me? No one invites Aubrey Posen to abstract events. _Fine_, I'll do the planning – "

"I can plan, Bree, jeez," Chloe cuts you off. "While you and Beca go grocery shopping."

Beca stands up so rapidly the headphones clatter to the floor. "What?! No way!"

You're a little stung, but there was no way you're letting Beca know. "Believe me, I'm equally tickled, midget."

"Much as I want to witness your banter, you two should get going," Chloe says casually, looking at the clock on the wall. "Go get the grocery list on the bedside table, Becs."

Beca carries off her laptop to Chloe's room, stomping like a teenager. It was quite amusing, and you glance at Chloe to see her chuckling.

"That came out of left field," you say. "I thought you loved grocery shopping with Beca."

"I do," Chloe replies absently, picking up her phone from the coffee table and fiddling with it. "But she puts a lot of unnecessary stuff on the cart like a little kid. And I can't tell her off because she's too cute. So it's your job now."

You cross your arms, your mind reeling with questions as to why Chloe was suddenly passing Beca off to you. Every time the two returned from their grocery trips once a week they're both positively glowing, unless Chloe went on her own personal shopping as well and dragged Beca along. "Is there something wrong?"

"No," Chloe answers, not looking at you. "I just have to, you know, make a few phone calls. Like, I have to tell Mom we're coming next week." Beca reappears from Chloe's room, grocery list in hand and a grumpy look on her face. "Oh come on, Becs. You'll have two hours of tormenting Bree without anyone stopping you. That's fun, right?"

You roll your eyes at almost the same time Beca does. Chloe chuckles again and gets up, pulling your hand so you have no choice but to stand. Chloe walks over to her brunette girlfriend and kisses her; you turn away and pick up your keys from the mantlepiece, willing yourself not to look at them as you go wait for Beca in the hallway.

The couple materializes next to you a few moments later. Beca pulls on her Doc Martens with a lot of grunting, and you can't help but poke fun at her exertions. "That's what you get for shopping in the kids' section."

"Very fucking funny," Beca snaps, lacing up her right boot. "They're fine. I don't see the need of buying new shoes every other week, unlike you twig bitches."

"Yep, because all your extra money goes to Taco Bell and buying me peanut butter cups," Chloe teases, sidling next to you and looping her arm around yours. "Maybe you can convince her to get new boots while you're out, Bree."

"Why do I have to do everything around here?" you huff. Beca just stands and gives Chloe a peck on the lips. "Love you, Beale."

You can't turn away this time because Chloe's tethering you with her arm, so you play off the green-eyed monster rearing inside you with a little cough. "Whipped."

Beca smacks your stomach with the back of her hand and while it didn't hurt, you yelp at the unexpected touch. Chloe slaps Beca's hand in mild reprimand. "Bad Beca. Because of that, I'm giving your goodbye kiss to Bree."

"What?" Beca starts to laugh, until Chloe spins you around and really plants a kiss on your lips. You feel your face getting warm and Beca's expression changes to disbelief. "Chloe Marie Beale, did you seriously just kiss another girl in front of me?"

You shake your head, even while knowing it wouldn't get the scarlet out of your face. Chloe, being Chloe, just brushes it off and kisses Beca as well. "There's yours. Now get going! I love you both!"

And that's how you and Beca find yourself being shoved out to the porch, looking confusedly at each other.

* * *

"Are you serious?! We're going grocery shopping _and you forgot the damn list?!"_

You're fuming, and understandably so. You're already pushing a cart down the aisle, trying to ignore the fact that the thirty-minute car ride with Beca had been nothing but awkward silence, and then this infuriating smurf informs you that she forgot the grocery list. _Why am I in love with this exasperating – exasperatingly breathtaking – mess of a person?_

Beca just shrugs. "Everything kinda flew out the window when Chloe kissed you."

Deep breaths. You're not going to lose your cool at Trader Joe's of all places. The smug little shit couldn't even be bothered to look apologetic. "That's your excuse? You're jealous?"

"Whoa, whoa, who said I'm jealous?" Beca's scratching her earlobe – something you only see when she's about to perform or when she's in the doghouse with Chloe. You decide that it's her nervous tic. "It's just weird, is all."

"There is nothing between me and Chloe," you hiss, before remembering the way Chloe touched your legs some weeks ago. _Well, not quite._ "I'm calling her. Why I should be the one fixing your blundering is totally beyond me."

"Blundering...really? You couldn't just say 'mistake', Aubrey?"

"Don't you fucking try me, Mitchell," you growl, phone already in your ear. _Ring, ring_.

"_Bree?_" The background noise on the other end is so loud, making you flinch. Chloe sounded out of breath. "_Call me later –_ "

"Did Beca leave the grocery list there?"

"_Uh, yeah. I can see it from here_."

"Can you dictate the contents for me?"

Some static. The strange sound of an intercom announcing calls for boarding passengers. Chloe seemed distracted when she spoke again. "_Oops, it's not the list. Uh, just some receipt. I don't see it anywhere_."

Beca's mouthing "What?" and you shoot her a death glare.

"_Anyway, those were pretty basic. Your ingredients for banana bread, pasta, milk, apples, oranges, tomatoes – the cherry ones – chicken, potatoes, whole wheat bread, bathroom cleaner, some kale, muesli. Caribbean flavor_."

"Right." Beca's scrambling to type all the things Chloe dictated, but you push her phone away. "Special requests?"

"_Are you on speaker right now? Turn it off_."

"Yes. It's off."

"_Beca loves Skittles. Throw in a few, I'll pay you when you get back."_

"No way! Not when your stupid lackey's just proven she's more trouble than she's worth." You glance at Beca, who was now staring daggers at you as well.

"_Play nice. Love you both. Tell Beca_." The line went dead.

"Why didn't you ask her to repeat the list? I haven't written everything down yet," Beca asked.

"Because I've already memorized it." You push the cart ahead, already planning the shortest route from the bread and eggs section to the counters on the other side of the store.

"Right, fucking brilliant lawyer," Beca mutters under her breath, but it was loud enough for you to hear. You spin around, angrier than before.

"You're so full of yourself, Beca. If you think I'll just swallow your insolent attitude like Chloe does, _you're fucking wrong_."

"I knew that the moment you called me 'bitch' in the first minute of meeting you."

"What motivates you to annoy me? You can stop now because I already fucking hate you. So much hate I want to move out of the apartment just to avoid your fucking smug face." You're haphazardly throwing things on the cart, bread and baking soda and Tahitian vanilla, while swearing your mouth off but you couldn't care in the slightest.

"Wow, your opinion of me wasn't that harsh a few days ago," Beca says, and while her voice was level, you know she's getting a rise as well. "Chloe's never going to fucking mention it, but you liked me so much you bedded my damn clone last week."

The moment she said it your whole body goes rigid. You know what's coming next, so you abandon the cart and make a beeline for the nearest bathroom in the fastest speed you can without attracting attention to yourself. You haven't vomited in the past few days, having limited your philandering after the intervention, so the bile that comes from your throat feels bitterer than before. _Fucking Beca._ Maybe it was your fault – assuming that Chloe and Beca was too caught up with you sleeping with a girl to even notice her actual appearance – but still, _fucking maddening Beca._

You clean yourself up until you're impeccable and return to the cart. Beca was still standing there, although her expression had changed from furious to sheepish. "I'm sorry," she says, looking at her feet. "I went too far."

"Fuck you. I don't need to explain my fucking life choices to you."

"Stop cursing."

"I can't help it if it was an all-sorority only party and the single shag-worthy person there was a girl whom you think looks a lot like you –"

"I thought you said you don't need to explain your life choices to me."

"You think I fucking _want _you, Beca? Dream on!"

"Well, she really _does_ look like me." For some reason her sanctimonious smirk is back, and you can barely restrain from reaching over and slapping her face.

"Ear monstrosities and a flannel shirt? That's enough damn evidence that I like you?"

"Look, nobody's saying you like me, Aubrey." Beca sighs, apparently tired of the conversation. "I apologize, okay? You don't want me, fine. I get that too. What else do you want to hear?"

You close your mouth, reminding yourself that arguing with Beca would lead you nowhere. Instead you push the cart along, picking up stuff with aloof efficiency, not caring if she was following you.

In fact, you've almost forgotten about Beca until she tosses two things in the cart: a pack of Reese's peanut butter cups and a box of assorted tea. You glare at her. "No."

Beca's unfazed. "I'm paying for those."

"Why would you get Twinings _when_ _you don't even drink tea_, you idiot?"

"That's actually for you."

You couldn't help the smile already tugging at the corners of your mouth, and Beca sees it before you turn away. She smirks. "Wow, you're quite easy to woo, Posen."

"Shut up. It doesn't mean I forgive you."

But she later spots you sneaking in a couple of Skittles on the counter, and you're satisfied at how hard she tries not to grin as well.

* * *

The moment you reach the apartment you proceed to the kitchen to put away the grocery items. Beca rummages in one of the bags for the peanut butter cups and goes out to the living room. "Chloe? We're home!"

You're fixing the contents of the refrigerator when Beca returns. "Have you seen Chloe?"

"No," you answer, not looking up from the fridge. Beca disappears again and you continue stocking vegetables on the respective racks. You've moved on to placing the muesli on the shelf when you hear loud footsteps behind you. "Beca, how many times did I tell you not to wear shoes inside the – "

"Chloe's gone."

"She probably went out to buy –"

"She's gone." You turn around and gasp a little at the unexpected expression on Beca's face: a mix of confusion and worry. "Her laptop's gone, her phone's gone, most of her clothes –"

You don't wait for her to finish; you're already storming past her to Chloe's room. At first glance nothing seems amiss – the familiar swatch of white, light blue and pink colors of the room greeting you, furniture haphazardly stationed in a way that's so Chloe, lotions and makeup items on the dresser, books and DVDs stacked neatly in a bookcase taking up an entire wall. Beca crosses the room and opens Chloe's closet. Something is definitely off; the mass of fabrics you usually see threatening to spill over is gone, replaced by a measly number of clothes in hangers. You close your eyes, not daring to believe it. _Chloe wouldn't just leave. There must be a logical explanation_.

"You don't invite someone to go on vacation in Florida and then just disappear," you hear yourself say, mechanically and evenly. "You're probably overreacting."

"Well, if you're so fucking smart, where's Chloe then?" Beca's pacing the room, wringing her hands. You walk over to the bookcase. Chloe's medical books had dwindled in number. You look at the DVDs on the upper shelf. Not seeing _Rear Window_ and _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ – Chloe's favorite films – only increase the dread already welling up inside you.

Beca's holding her phone to her ear. "Her phone's off."

You say nothing, glancing at the corkboard above Chloe's desk. There are definitely missing photos. One is last year's photo of you, Jesse, Beca and Chloe standing in front of Brick Store Pub. The other is the photo of you and Beca sleeping on the couch the night you and Jesse broke up, a photo which existence you weren't aware of until you dropped by Chloe's room last week to borrow her curling iron.

"Where does she keep her camera?" Chloe has a nifty, functional toy lomography camera, which she only uses for art projects and special occasions because it was hard to find shops that still developed film nowadays. Beca opens a drawer on the desk in response, shows you the empty inside and shakes her head.

You sit down on the bed, racking your brains. There must be something sentimental that Chloe would definitely bring if she suddenly ups and leaves. There's the photos, there's the camera, there's the movies, and then –

"The binky," you say, and Beca stops pacing to look at you. "Chloe has this scrub cap from her dad, she takes it everywhere because it's supposed to inspire her or something. It's blue with the logo –"

"– of NASCAR," Beca finishes. She must have been told about Chloe's childhood weekends at the racing tracks in Daytona Beach. Beca, apparently knowing where exactly is was being kept, reaches for a box from the bookcase and dumps the contents on the bed.

There are a lot of papers – mostly letters – and a lot more bunch of photographs grouped together with rubber bands. No scrub cap.

Beca takes one look at the papers and collapses on the far end of the bed, hands frantically swiping at her eyes, an almost-unheard sob escaping her throat. You slowly realize how ominously muted the entire apartment has become.

* * *

No note, no text message, no _nothing_.

You're in your own room knocking pillows aside in a fury. Beca's standing by the door jamb, quietly wiping away tears for what must be an hour now. You're torn between the urge to comfort her, the urge to cry and the urge to puke – but since all three entails a terrible outcome, you're ransacking the entire apartment instead in the hopes that Chloe left some clue as to where she was going.

You dial another number, already knowing Chloe's was out of range. It only rings once before someone answers it warmly. _"Aubrey! What a pleasant surprise."_

"Hello, Mrs. Beale," you dutifully answer back, trying to match the enthusiasm of Chloe's mom. You put the phone on speaker and Beca looks up at the sound of the voice.

_ "Nonsense. For the umpteenth time, young lady, you either call me Jessica or nothing. I take it y'all sent off my little ginger to Baltimore by now?"_

You're pretty sure you're mirroring Beca's stunned face. "What?"

_"Oh dear, if you haven't, then you better be letting her go now!"_ Mrs. Beale sounded absolutely excited. _"I'm sure y'all are going to miss Chloe terribly, but she's due in John Hopkins day after tomorrow. These med schools sure start their orientations early, don't they? But if it makes her and her daddy happy, I sure wouldn't complain. How's law school, darling? I take it you're on summer break. Or is it like med school, where they take your kids so early they can't come home to you?"_

You bury your face in your hands, finally comprehending where Chloe ran off to.

_"Aubrey? Are you still there?"_

You prod yourself to answer, not wanting to let Mrs. Beale know something was wrong. "Uh, yes ma'am. I mean, yes, I'm on summer break."

_"Good! I expect you to come visit us then, even if Chloe isn't around. And bring Beca, will you? From what I hear you're not exactly the best of friends, but Caleb and Caroline keeps on asking about her. I know I'm yammering too much, but we just miss you, dear."_

Beca sits down on your bed, scuffing the toe of her boots against the hardwood floor like a child. You highly doubt you've seen anyone more desolate in your whole life. "I'll try my best, Mrs. B – Jessica. I have to go. Please take care of yourself."

_"Alrighty. You too, dear."_ A click, and silence.

Beca's rubbing at her eyes again. You stand there for a few minutes, doing some rapid-fire decision-making. _Ugh, to hell with it. Worst-case scenario, she'll just push me away._ You sit down beside her and pull her into your arms, breathing in the sweet scent of vanilla and berries you're slowly getting familiar with. She doesn't resist. Instead she buries her face into your neck, her body racked by hushed sobs, and you hesitantly run a hand through that delicately-spun brown hair like you've always wished.

You've lost count of how often you dreamed of this, having her in your arms. But now it's actually happening and the only thing you could think of is, _not like this_.


	6. Chapter 6

**It seems that a lot of you are indignant, fire-breathing emotional wrecks after last chapter. I'M SORRY!**

Think of it this way: As long as Chloe is around, Beca will never entertain the idea of being with Aubrey even if Chloe keeps on pushing them together. Chloe needed to create space so Beca would realize on her own that she MAY have feelings for Aubrey. Remember, this is a Triple Treble endgame. And I don't want sudden declarations of love and blah, so the path going there will be arduous and exhilarating and full of jealousy or whatnot. (Just kidding.) But yeah, you get the point.

I'll admit: I hate this chapter. It's long, it doesn't resolve anything, and I suck at writing feelings. Which is the reason I chose Aubrey as the main heroine in the first place - because she's not very good at dealing with them. This was supposed to be longer, but I can't even bear to proofread it myself, I find it _that_ dull. However, this is the moving-on chapter. I can't just leave it out. You have been warned.

So as an incentive to keep you interested, Chapter 7 will have better developments. Awesome developments between Beca and Aubrey. *Evil laugh* Feel free to R&R. **And thanks for the numerous reviews! I wub you guys.**

* * *

Beca ends up sleeping on your bed. Or rather, you make her lie down on it, because after what felt like an eternity of crying she doesn't seem to want to move from her spot. You take off her boots – something you didn't expect you'd be doing for anyone, because it doesn't exactly help the reputation you have to uphold – and leave for the kitchen to eat dinner.

At the kitchen you sit drinking tea, having no appetite for anything else. By the time you return to your room Beca's asleep, knees drawn to her chest. You turn off the overhead lighting to change into your nightgown in the darkness and then turn on the bedside light, settling on the space on the bed Beca hasn't occupied.

Beca shifts closer to you and for a moment you're worried she woke up despite your soundless movements. But her eyes remain closed and you find yourself staring at her face, those delicate cheekbones, and the sharp straight line of her nose. This is one of the few times you can look at her uninterrupted and you could probably do this all night if only there weren't more pressing matters on your mind.

_Chloe._ You couldn't fathom how she could have left for John Hopkins med school without telling you. For all the things you still don't understand about Chloe, you were at least confident that she fully trusted you. That is, _until now._

Chloe had a depth that people immediately take note of, aside from her touchy-feeliness and desire to please. People know they should take Chloe seriously despite her bubbly manner. But at the same time she's too guarded, always too scared to make profound emotional connections with others. It baffled people why you were still Chloe's best friend after six years when she could have always gone out and found a new one. But you're one of the very few people Chloe opens up to with ease, and she always assured you there's nothing your friendship wouldn't survive.

You would have been happy for her. Granted, you'd be very sad, but you're all too familiar with her passion for medicine and you would be the first to urge her to go. You're pretty sure she knows how supportive you would have been. After all, you opened her acceptance letters to different med schools together. You comforted her when she got the rejection letter from Harvard med. You went with her to Florida just so she can tell her dad she's going to med school in Emory.

It's now clear why she studied so hard in the last months of the past school year. She wanted impressive grades to make the transfer to John Hopkins easier. You kick yourself mentally for not noticing the little hints – how she didn't have any definite plans for the summer, how she was more touchy-feely than usual, how evasive she was earlier when you asked if something was wrong. But Chloe has always been an enigma – the redhead has always been open and carefree, only to retreat in her own little world at the last minute – and if even Beca herself hasn't noticed anything, you're definitely not at fault.

You close your eyes and try to sleep. First thing tomorrow, you'll call Chloe and ask for an explanation.

* * *

Next morning – the first day without Chloe – you wake up to a subdued silence.

Only now does it occur to you how strongly Chloe makes her presence felt in the apartment – either by playing music, watching television, or singing in some part of the house.

Beca's still asleep beside you, one arm slung across your stomach, her face pressed against your shoulder. You're halfway to kissing her forehead before you remember that with or without Chloe, Beca is still your best friend's girlfriend. _Self-control, Aubrey. Self-control._

Instead you get up, trying not to wake Beca in the process, and force yourself to eat breakfast. You absentmindedly stir muesli in milk, wondering what to say to Chloe. You'll tell her you miss her, ask her why she didn't tell you, and wish her luck. _That would be too easy._ You'll tell her what she did was disappointing. _Or not, because no matter what happens, she should not think I'm angry and unsupportive. _You'll ask her what would happen to her relationship with Beca. _But it's none of my business, and she might wonder why I'm suddenly so concerned about her alt girlfriend. _You look down at your bowl, frowning at the now-mushy grains. _Why am I bothering with some stupid spiel anyway? She's the one who owes me an explanation._ You'll just dial the number, wait for her to speak, and hope for the best.

You've been trying to call Chloe for almost two hours, getting nothing but voicemail, when Beca turns up. She takes the chair across yours, looking anywhere but at you. The silence after she settles down is so thick you could almost taste it.

"Can I get you anything?" you say, your voice echoing awkwardly in the kitchen. Beca only shakes her head no.

"You haven't eaten anything since yesterday's brunch." You remember, because you made eggs Benedict that she and Chloe highly complimented. Beca shakes her head again. You decide not to push it, instead proceeding to wash your bowl and utensils in the sink.

Beca speaks the moment you turn your back to her. "What do we do now?"

"I don't know," you answer honestly. You've been so focused on trying to get Chloe on the line, you haven't really thought about anything else. "I don't think we can do anything."

"She hasn't called or messaged me at all. I mean, dude, why can't she just tell me? I wouldn't have stopped her." Even without looking at Beca, you could clearly hear the despair in her voice.

You sigh. "Beca – I don't really have any answers."

Clearly disappointed, Beca stands and shuffles out of the kitchen. You hear the door to Chloe's room closing. She doesn't come out the entire day.

* * *

The second day you're woken up by loud music. Frustrated by the heavy drumming and the unmistakable sound of an unearthly being yelling its lungs out, you trudge indignantly to the living room.

Beca's obliviously stretched out on the couch, eyes closed, a swallow-blue coat draped across her chest. She opens one eye, sensing your presence. "Hey look. Chloe left me her favorite coat. She left those clothes I like on her, actually."

You say nothing, crossing your arms. The displeasure must have shown in your face anyway because Beca suddenly scrambles to lower the volume of the speakers attached to her iPod. "Sorry. It's just really awful quiet since..." Her voice trails off and she looks away quickly.

"Can you at least play your mixes instead? What you're playing is not music, it's the equivalent of nails scratching a bloody chalkboard –"

"No," Beca answers, still not looking at you. "They're all about...you know."

You turn off the music, opting for the television instead. Beca doesn't protest. You put in Season 1 of _Community _because it's the only show Beca willingly watches, and then push her legs aside so you can sit on the couch.

The day passes by in agonizing slowness. Both of you don't get up from the couch until you decide to order pizza. Beca barely touches her portion, so you shrug and end up eating most of the pizza yourself by the time six o'clock p.m. rolls around. Normally you would've chastised yourself for even getting a second slice, but just two days without Chloe and you're not sure what's normal anymore. Beca seems to think the same, staring blankly at the characters of _Community_ onscreen without really seeing them, her face devoid of any emotion. She sets her phone on redial and lays it down on the coffee table. For the next hours you hear Chloe's tinny voicemail greeting over Jeff Winger's arguments.

Three seasons of _Community_ later, Beca announces she's going to bed. You wait for her to proceed to Chloe's bedroom until she turns on her side, back facing you, and you realize that she intends to spend the night on the couch. You clean up the coffee table, wash your face haphazardly in the bathroom and collapse on your bed, exhausted with your fruitless efforts of getting Chloe out of your mind.

* * *

The third day the house is decidedly serene. Beca's nowhere to be seen, but the backpack she usually lugs around and her mixing equipment is still on Chloe's bedroom, so you assume she went to get something to eat.

Having no plans, you figure you'd just wait for Beca and then..._well, do nothing_. You're gradually getting comfortable with the silence anyway, knowing Beca's right beside you and the two of you are in this Chloe-abandonment thing together. You run a hot bath in the tub and settle in with a book and a bottle of wine you meant to open on the last day of summer vacation. You idly tread bubbles, a part of you strongly objecting your current lack of direction and another part set on not caring. Since you and Chloe became roommates in college you never had to plan summers, because the redhead would map every party, road trip or vacation the two of you have to attend. You expected this summer to be the same until Chloe walked out.

You shake your head and dial Chloe's number for what feels like the thousandth time. Busy tone. You immerse your body in the water and try to concentrate on _One Hundred Years of Solitude_.

Once you empty your wine bottle and finish the novel, you realize that Beca hasn't returned yet. You get up from the tub and you're suddenly thrown by how dizzy you are; it's cold and you hurry to put on your bathrobe. The apartment is dark. You slowly go around flicking on lights, trying not to fall over. You collapse on the couch and dial Beca, wondering how long would it be until your brain cells are fried from too many attempts to call people. She doesn't pick up.

Before you fall asleep you make a mental note to look for Beca tomorrow.

* * *

Which is why you're standing uncertainly in front of Barden's Baker Hall the fourth day without Chloe, questioning yourself and delaying the inevitable. _What happened to my life? Why am I suddenly pursuing someone I wanted to feed to the wolves a year ago?_ Your mind is inventing a hundred reasons why you should go home and lock the door and forget about Beca Mitchell forevermore. You can have the apartment to yourself because Chloe's gone, you can do whatever you wish, and you can be free from a certain tiny brown-haired blue-eyed person who turns up in the kitchen at six in the morning.

But you're Aubrey Posen. Once you decide to do something, you do it well. Go big or go home is your work attitude. So you strut the few meters to Beca's dorm, and you somehow wish it wasn't summer because it amuses you to no end when you do this walk and people actually part in the hallways.

You've barely raised your hand to knock when the door flies open. An Asian girl with hair so straight and black it's disturbing – stands in the doorway, glaring at you.

"Good, the white girl has a zookeeper," she spats out. "Your pet hasn't eaten for almost two days. I don't want to be stuck with a dead body."

And that is how you make your acquaintance with Kimmy Jin, the famed roommate from hell Chloe and Beca often jokes about. You maintain your perfect posture and cross your arms. "Get out."

"I'm sorry?" Kimmy Jin snarls, mirroring your stance. "FYI, self-entitled white girl, this is my dorm."

You merely raise one eyebrow and plant your hands on your hips. Kimmy Jin finally wavers, throwing you one last dirty look before storming out. You watch her exit with satisfaction, amused at how that old intimidation trick works like a charm every time. _Except on Beca_, you think bitterly.

Speaking of which – Beca (or whom you assume as Beca under the covers) lay on her bed, her back to you, not moving. You close the door and sit on the edge of the bed.

"Beca?"

She doesn't budge. Her voice is gravelly and small when she answers. "What are you doing here?"

"Come home."

"I'm home. We're in my dorm."

"No, I mean come home with me," you begin, before realizing how awkward that sounded. _How fucking cute._ Words suddenly decide to fail you in Beca's presence. "Your mixing equipment and your flannel shirts are there in the apartment –"

"Yeah, I'll clear out my stuff soon as I can. You didn't have to come here and bug me," Beca says dryly and_ god, how on earth did she just misinterpret what I said? _It was obviously time for more drastic measures.

"Do you seriously need a PowerPoint presentation or something, Beca? What I'm telling you is, come home and mope in the apartment –"

"I am not moping," Beca replies angrily, tightening the covers around her. "I'm sleeping. Before you came in, anyway –"

"Fine, then sleep in the apartment with me! Ugh – I mean, you can sleep. In the apartment. But not on my bed. On Chloe's bed, or on the couch. While I am in my room keeping a respectable distance –"You groan inwardly to yourself and give up, because every third word out of your mouth sounds wrong.

The moment you stop speaking Beca rolls around to face you. Her face is puffy and pale, there were dark circles underneath her eyes, and her tousled hair has certainly seen better days.

"Whoa, Aubrey Posen, are you saying you miss me?" Beca asks, and you could have torn her apart if only you didn't see that ghost of a smirk lurking in her features.

"Yes."

And your simple admission – however embarrassing on your part – finally puts back the smirk in Beca's face. You try to keep the smile off your own face at her reaction. Beca's self-satisfied smirk is so worth ruining your cold, unflinching reputation fifty times over.

"Dude, really? You don't have to hurt yourself just to get me out of bed, you know –"

"Shut up," you mutter. "You're supposed to be under my jurisdiction or something." It's partly true, because she's your best friend's girl and Chloe kind of abandoned you too so you're supposed to stick together in this, right?

"Nuh-uh, you don't get to explain," Beca teases, sitting up. "All I hear coming out from your mouth is 'I miss you Becaaaaa –'" she puts on a high-pitched, unpleasantly girly voice at the last phrase and you glower at her.

"Something else will come out of my mouth if you don't stop _right now_."

"Don't you use your superpower on me," Beca recoils, trying to look horrified. "I like these sheets, man."

You merely roll your eyes. "You've barely eaten anything for _days_, Beca. And it shows. Get up. You're coming with me."

The smirk disappears and Beca draws her knees up to her chest, looking away. "Are you sure you want me there? I mean, people don't seem to want me anywhere near them –"

"That's not true!" you interrupt quickly, because really, how can anyone not want Beca at all? "Why would I be here then?"

"But Chloe left me."

You sigh and lay back on the covers, suddenly tired. Part of you wants to say _yes, Chloe left you, so why don't we get together instead and have aca-children?_ But damn your unshakeable loyalty because no matter how frustrated you are with Chloe, you would never, _ever_, try to steal the one person you _know_ she sincerely loves.

Even if that person is sitting beside you – vulnerable, possibly angry, and most likely very easy to brainwash.

"Have you noticed Chloe's attitude regarding studying?"

Beca manages a small snort. "What does it have to do with anything?" Your eyes must have unconsciously flashed a warning, because she's suddenly scrambling to answer. "She doesn't even have to study. She's so clever it's alarming."

"Exactly."

Beca looks at you, apparently surprised. Whether she wasn't expecting your answer or she couldn't believe you acknowledged Chloe's immense intelligence, you don't wait to know. "Chloe is so smart that frankly, the proceedings of Emory med school bore her. She puts in a minimal amount of work and yet she's still on top of her class. The only times she'll make a full effort in studying – in most things, actually – is when she sees a challenge. It's either too difficult, or the stakes are high, or the rewards will last her a lifetime. And John Hopkins is the third best medical school in America. No one gets an acceptance letter there and says no – unless, of course, they also got into Harvard or Stanford."

Beca's nodding, and there's a painful jab inside you because it's exactly the way Chloe nods when she's listening to your explanations – head cocked to one side, eyes cast downward, worrying her bottom lip, fingers of one hand drumming on her lap while the other hand stays perfectly still. "So I should've panicked when Chloe started studying feverishly a few months ago."

"Don't blame yourself," you chide gently. "You couldn't have known. Even before you were together Chloe was always fretting about not getting into Harvard med and having no choice but to go to Emory. And then there were you, who made the decision easier. But she must have always planned to get in other med schools come admission for the next school year. I'm sorry."

She doesn't say anything, just leans back on her pillow and puts her hands up to her face.

"I'm sure she still wants you. But you have to know that she throws a hundred percent into whatever it is she decides to do. I'm sure it took a lot of difficulty pushing your relationship into the backseat."

"Yeah, and I should just be thankful I'm still in the car, right?" Beca says sarcastically. "She could have explained it to me before leaving. I would've understood."

"Chloe's a lot of things. Confrontational is not one of them. Take comfort in the fact that she ran away instead of giving you some lame-ass excuse. It meant she couldn't find words good enough to make you understand what it was exactly that she wanted. Not that you're dumb – not at all – she just didn't trust herself enough and in the end she felt it was better to say nothing, instead of conveying the wrong thing."

"Did Chloe ask you to tell me all this?" Beca's voice is muffled as she replaces the hands on her face with another pillow.

You remember all the busy tones, the out-of-coverage-area prompts. "She never picked up."

"So there's no way of knowing if what you're saying are true."

You close your eyes in defeat. "None."

Beca drops the pillow, sits up, and stares at you thoughtfully for a long while. You feel your face burning red and you're suddenly annoyed by how blushing is the only thing you can't control in your control-hungry life. But you stare back, determined to let her see that _yes, I know what I'm saying, because I'm Chloe's best friend._

"I've made up my mind to believe you," she finally says, with the sigh of one who has no other choice.

* * *

The fifth day, however, the tentative peace Beca finds after you convinced her to come back to the apartment is gone. You wake up in the dark hours of dawn, unsure of what roused you because the house felt still. You're pretty sure you triple-locked the front and back door before going to bed so a burglar is out of the question. Sighing, you get up, dig up the envelope that you've been keeping on your bedside drawer for days, and proceed to the living room.

Beca's seated on the couch, palms massaging her eyes. Beside her lay her laptop, headphones and a mess of blankets and pillows. You assume she's taking a break from mixing until you see her broken cellphone on the floor. From the looks of it the phone wasn't simply dropped – it was stomped on, judging by the fine black bits of plastic strewn around.

The brunette drops her hands and doesn't seem at all surprised by your presence. You take a seat beside her, carefully placing the laptop a little further on top of the coffee table in fear that she'd destroy that too. She stares at what you're doing for a long while, anguish obvious in her gray-blue eyes, until she finally decides to break the silence.

"She'll never fucking answer, right?"

You shrug, because you've just about broken your own phone dialing Chloe every time you get the chance. "Definitely not at five a.m."

"She must be having so much fun," Beca says bitterly, chucking her headphones on the coffee table. "So much fun she's forgotten us."

"Chloe's not that kind of person. Just give her time. She'll come around." You say the words you've often repeated to yourself in the past few days. But of course, Beca being Beca, they don't work.

"How can you fucking defend her? She ran off without a word!"

"She's my best friend. I'd defend her pro bono to the ends of the world if I have to."

"And what about us? We're just supposed to pick up our shit and move on?"

"I'm not exactly a closure kind of person, Beca. If you're uncomfortable with the idea, do something else. But I'm not doing anything that would make this harder for Chloe. So yes, I will pick up my shit -" you cringe inwardly at the unnecessary swearing "- and move on."

At this, Beca turns to you, livid.

"How can you just sit there so _calmly_, Aubrey? How can you just go on fucking living?" Her tone was unexpectedly harsh, and you're automatically tense even if there's no reason to be.

"You call what I'm doing _living_? The first day after Chloe left I lounged in my room all day and abused my phone's speed dial button. The second day I watched Community the entire day, didn't take a bath, and ate three-fourths of a big-ass pizza. The third day I drank an entire bottle of wine by myself and was actually contemplating suicide in the damn tub. I haven't gone out at all until yesterday, Beca! And to think that I had a lot of grand plans after your stupid intervention. I wanted to organize my music collection. I wanted to organize a party with Stacie and the girls because I haven't seen them in forever. I wanted to double my cardio workout. That's fucking living, and I haven't done any of those!"

Beca flinches at the annoyance in your voice. "Why are we yelling at each other?"

You almost want to slap her face. "You started it! God, you're infuriating!"

To your surprise, Beca immediately drops her shoulders, realizing what she's doing. She sighs. "Sorry. You're right. I can't do this anymore."

"I haven't said anything," you reply, still a little confused at the sudden change in her attitude. It's one of Beca's most admirable traits you've seen in the past few days: she's able to apologize without stalling the moment she knows she did something wrong. You're still trying to get used to it.

"I can't stand not knowing." Beca lies back on the couch, putting her hands at the back of her head. "I know you know what you're saying, Aubrey. But I just have to hear her say it."

"Say what?"

"If she...you know, still wants me."

You fish your envelope out of your nightgown and toss it on her lap. Frowning, she rips it open, and you watch intently even if you know what's inside: a plane ticket to Baltimore two days from now. She stares at the ticket for a while and then looks at you uncertainly, her eyes wide.

"Shit. This must've been expensive, Aubrey!"

You let out a short laugh. "I give you a chance to go get your girl and that's the first thing you say?"

"Your practicality is rubbing off on me," Beca shrugs, and then gets right back on the topic. "Are you, like, Dixie Chicks serious? You actually bought this for me?"

"Oh, no. I just felt like traipsing to Maryland because the weather there does wonders for my complexion. _Seriously_, Beca?"

Beca just looks at you, scratching her earlobe, pondering what to say.

"Chloe's spot-on. You're really our hero, Aubrey," Beca finally speaks up. "What would we do without you?"

"Fornicate," you answer sarcastically, crossing your legs and turning on the TV, letting her know the conversation is over. You don't want to say more than you should. Or maybe you were just scared you would blurt out how much this actually hurt for you.

"What about you? I mean, don't you want to talk to her too?" As usual, Beca's relentless, grabbing the remote from you and turning the TV off.

"I can stand not knowing. Chloe will talk to me when she's ready." That has always been the case with Chloe during your years of friendship; you've learned not to prod when the redhead had a problem, because she only shut you out. In the end Chloe always told you, in great detail and with much pacing back-and-forth, what was bothering her. You only have to wait.

"I'll pay you back."

"Save it. I just don't want to see your mopey face ever again." Beca's eyes go a little wider and you realize how mean that sounded, so you soften your voice. "So you better come back happy, Mitchell, or I'm not letting you in the apartment."

Beca only laughs, most traces of her previous frustration gone. "Thanks, Bree." Seeing the incredulous look on your face – it's the first time she actually calls you by Chloe's nickname for you – she adds, "Or would you like me to call you dude instead?"

You roll your eyes. "I'm not a dog you get to name. Now work off your debt and make me breakfast."


	7. Chapter 7

**Longest chapter ever. **Smashing development, like I said.

I'm not able to write as often because I'm recently employed and now I have less time for procrastinating *sad face*. But I assure you I'll be finishing this. I love Aubrey too much.

This chapter isn't much, just some fluffy tidbits here and there. It's pretty calm-paced except for the ending. Didn't do much editing because I'm exhausted as fuck, but don't hesitate to R&R and maybe tell me if something's amiss. The next chapter's completion might take long too. **But I hope you keep reading**!

* * *

The last you hear from Beca are some text messages right as she was arriving in Baltimore.

_- Hey bree. Plane ddnt crash haha. Sorry ur plan 2 get rid of me backfired. Landing in 10 min_

You shake your head at her terrible textspeak – because you believe good grammar and punctuation should still be applied even in text messaging and online media – and send back a carefully-worded reply.

_That is so unfortunate. And I was getting ready to send out your obituary to Barden Press. (Smile) I emailed Chloe to at least tell you her address or you'll dig up the whole of John Hopkins trying to find her. If she didn't, you can choose a place to stay from that list I provided you._

_- Dude u txt lyk a victorian novel. Use a smiley FFS. Flyt attendant breathes fire lyk u so i hav 2 turn off fone for a bit. Txt u l8r_

You roll your eyes even if she can't see you and set your phone down, fighting the urge to reply something that would surely be nonsensical and trying to focus on your new book instead. _Jeez, Aubrey, calm down. She said she'll text you._

Twenty minutes later, your phone beeps and you leap at it to read the message. Sure enough, it's Beca.

_- Chloe picked me up at airport. Otw 2 her dorm now_

Apparently Chloe has not only received your email, she also decided to get her head out of her ass and meet Beca. You exhale loudly in relief. At least you can stop worrying about Chloe hiding from Beca.

Oddly enough, the idea that Beca and Chloe are together again doesn't stir a twinge of jealousy in you – but before you can reflect on that, Beca sends you another text.

_- She's cry-smiling and not talking and being rly weird what do i do?_

You can't help but chuckle at that one. Apparently Beca has never dealt with being separated from Chloe until now. The few times you and Chloe were apart, Chloe's attitude upon seeing you again was exactly how Beca described her.

The very first time you weren't together – you left for a debate competition in New York during sophomore year – Chloe met you at the airport upon your return, said nothing except "I missed you", and alternated between smiling, crying, and gazing at you on the ride home. It was disconcerting, but over the years you learned how to deal with it. And once you did the results were rather endearing.

_Chloe has separation anxiety. The only thing that works is hugging and kissing her repeatedly. I assume you're in a cab, so please DO NOT kiss her on the lips or anywhere unsuitable for an audience. Have some decency. She might pinch or bite you. Let her._

You assume Beca will be acting on your advice so you return to your book, not expecting a reply. You've almost forgotten her half an hour later when she messages you again.

_- She bit me LOADS. Totally worked though. It's kinda cute. Thx :) and that's how u use a smiley._

You sigh, remembering how you felt the same way when Chloe bit or pinched you on several cab rides from airports. Chloe later told you she hurt you for two reasons: as punishment for not being with her, and to make sure you're real and she's not dreaming. You found her even more adorable after that.

And now, you can perfectly imagine Chloe doing it to Beca. It only makes you miss them even more.

_I miss you so much._

You type the simple message with much deliberation, and though you know she wouldn't reply, you send it to Chloe's number just the same.

* * *

Beca doesn't give word of when she's coming back. In fact, you don't hear from her after she arrived in Baltimore. In her absence you resign yourself to staying in Atlanta; there is no way you're visiting Vermont, even if your siblings call you a lot of times hinting that your father wants you home.

"If it's so important that I come home, shouldn't Dad be calling me himself?"you say sarcastically before hanging up.

You distract yourself from Beca and Chloe's lack of communication by keeping yourself busy. You hang around at Emory's library and write tons of articles you intend to publish on the law school journal. You keep the apartment spotless. You finish your summer book list, and when that isn't enough, you buy more books. You double your cardio. You calorie-calibrate your meals (because even several weeks later, you still haven't forgiven yourself for eating three-fourths of that pizza). You get coffee with a favorite professor, who introduces you to several other like-minded students. You get asked to several dates by these like-minded students and you go, even if none of them are Beca and therefore none of them are your type. _At least I get to perfect my fine-dining manners, _you muse pragmatically.

Of course, with all the idle moments, you can't help but think. Unfortunately, your thoughts often lead to Beca and Chloe. You love them both so much – damn you and your unhinged feelings – and there's simply no way you'll ever tear them apart just for your own satisfaction.

And so you make the conscious decision, one quiet morning as you sit on the couch by yourself, that you'll never, ever tell anyone about Beca. You're pretty confident you can steal her away from Chloe if you wish to, but you brush away the selfish thought immediately. Chloe is and has always been your person. You would never, ever hurt her – or Beca – intentionally.

You also wonder how it happens that one moment you're living with Jesse, Beca and Chloe and then it's just Chloe and Beca and then it's just Beca and then you're alone. You try not to dwell on it too much, because Aubrey Posen is not supposed to wallow in self-pity, and you should have been used to people not liking you in the first place because of your neuroticism and sharp tongue (which you can freely admit to yourself, although it angers you when others point it out).

Luckily Stacie, of all people, proves you wrong before you can drive yourself crazy. A week after Beca left the tall brunette calls you.

"Aubrey Posen speaking."

"I'll never get used to that greeting," Stacie laughs on the other end. "Hey, we have a party at my sorority house later. Wanna come? I promise I won't hook you up with anybody. Chloe and DJ B just about burned me when I agreed to be your wingman."

To her mouthful of a greeting, you could only remark, "You guys never run out of parties, do you?"

"Aubrey, we're a _sorority_. It's kind of our reason for existence. And it's not like you have a lot of things lined up. It's fucking summer."

"I _do_ have a lot of things lined up," you say, a tad indignantly. "I've been reading my law books for second year –"

"Cool! We'll pick you up later at eight!" Stacie chirps, and you can almost imagine her waving off your answer with a well-manicured hand. "Bodily, if Fat Amy has to!"

You end up having a great time and Stacie invites you to a bajillion more parties afterwards. And then it's not just her, but gradually the rest of the Bellas inviting you to places as they come back from summer break. On the off days when you're not roaming Atlanta with the girls they'd usually camp in the apartment instead, holding movie marathons and pedicure sessions and impromptu drinking parties. You don't understand why on earth these people would be making efforts to see you, but you certainly appreciate it. Their constant presence, despite the chatter and the mostly-inappropriate jokes and the mess afterwards, calm you down.

You start stockpiling frozen pizza and beer in the fridge, even if you wouldn't be caught dead consuming them. You buy more shades of nail polish for Stacie and Ashley to try when they come over. You download music you know only Cynthia Rose and Denise can appreciate. You try not to cross yourself when Lilly asks to use your laptop 'for research'. You make Lamingtons at one of your sleepovers, even if you've never had one before, because you recalled Fat Amy saying sometime at a party that she misses eating them. (Fat Amy almost crushes you in a bear hug that night, saying they taste like her mom's, which you believe is a high compliment.) When you learn Jessica loves movies you show her the collection Jesse left in your bedroom, and she actually squeals and you lend her some of them (after a tentative, carefully-worded text message to Jesse, of course).

At one of the movie marathons, Fat Amy finally asks.

"What happened to Red?"

The other girls look around, and judging by their curious expressions, they've been dying to ask you this a long time ago. You decide to indulge them. After all, they're Beca and Chloe's friends as well.

"Chloe was accepted into John Hopkins med school at Maryland. Beca went there to spend time with her before term starts." There. That wasn't the entire picture, but you don't believe it's your story to tell, so you'd rather stick with facts instead.

"We know that," Cynthia Rose says, and to your raised eyebrow she adds, "Beca sent us a group text that if ever we need her, she's in Baltimore to be with Chloe. She kind of explained the med school thing when I asked."

"What we're asking is why didn't she say goodbye to us?" Denise pipes up, and you look around at all of them, their eyes reflecting the same confusion you felt the moment you called Chloe's mom.

"I don't know," you sigh. "She didn't really say goodbye to anyone, even me and Beca." This gets wide-eyed looks from most of the girls. "Don't...don't judge Chloe. I know she comes across as happy and carefree and all that, but deep down, like the rest of us, a lot of things scare her too and maybe we should just leave it at that."

"Even you and Beca?" Stacie asks, shaking her head. "I'll never understand Chloe."

You shrug. "Judging by how shocked Beca and I were when she left, I guess we haven't understood Chloe as fully as we thought. I won't even try to explain her behavior, but please just... Look, I'm her best friend. And I may be frustrated, maybe even furious with her as of the moment, but I'm a hundred percent supportive of her decision, even if we weren't given the chance to be involved in it. And Beca stands by Chloe too. She wouldn't be in Baltimore if she didn't. We may not understand, but we all want her to be happy. And at this moment I know she is, and that's enough for me. I hope you'll feel the same way."

You observe them as they absorb your words. Cynthia Rose is chewing on her bottom lip; Denise leans against her shoulder and exhales. Fat Amy, for once, has no ridiculous comment, only twiddling her thumbs. Jessica is drumming her fingers against her lap. Ashley's eyes are downcast, directed at the carpet, although obviously not really seeing it. Lilly's staring at you as if trying to decipher something off your expression. Stacie, who's seated beside you, is also looking at you until she puts a hand on your lap, palm side up. You smile and put your hand over hers, she tightens her grip reassuringly, and in that moment you realize how intensely Chloe could affect people because even these girls feel heavy over her absence when they're not even living under the same roof.

"You're really good with words," Lilly says, and though her voice was barely audible, it breaks the thoughtful silence that settled after your little declaration.

"Thank you."

"I was kinda prepared to hate Red," Cynthia Rose admits quietly. "But what you said...it really helped. I see where she's coming from."

"Yeah," Fat Amy agrees. "I can get behind you on this being-happy-for-Chloe campaign. I'd battle a hundred dingoes just to see that gal happy."

You glance at each of them in turn, and all of them apparently feel the same way as Fat Amy, judging by the way they nod back at you. You feel it's an appropriate time to ask your own question. "So that's why you aca-bitches were always around? To ask about Chloe?"

"No," Stacie answers. "When I got that text from Beca, I just thought you'd be alone here and...Well, being alone sucks."

"You've been alone?" Cynthia Rose incredulously asks, and Stacie chucks a throw pillow at her with a laugh.

"So we thought we'd keep you company," Ashley says. "We hope you don't mind."

"I still have an entire bookcase full of rom-coms," Jessica offers. "We can do this anytime you want."

"We know you're Aubrey Posen and you might not want the company at all, but...all you need is ask, and we'll be there," Stacie adds warmly, and at this moment, you couldn't be more grateful for this girl who's obviously more than just boobs and sex.

You're grateful for all of these girls, actually. They came to your aid without knowing it, when you're pretty sure you were a hopeless case and people have some secret vendetta to make you miserable. These Bellas turned up, diverted your neuroticisms with their presence, and made sure you got back to being the Aubrey Posen they know and somehow accept, despite your puking episodes and acerbic attitude and your punishments of extra cardio back when you were still captain.

"Thanks, aca-girls," you say, looking at all of them fondly. "You have no idea how much this helped me."

"The free booze doesn't hurt too," Fat Amy holds up her can of beer, and everybody laughs.

* * *

Three weeks before term starts – on a morning you spend hung-over because the previous night Fat Amy and the girls thought it would be fun to see you drunk – Beca calls you.

"Too loud," you hear a voice grumble, and you almost jump off your bed. You spot Stacie sprawled on the floor of your bedroom.

"Jesus, Stacie, what are you doing here?!"

Stacie lifts her head and blinks. "Ugh, I don't know... I remember thinking how your rug looks so cozy, though. Can you please do something about that damn phone?"

You shake your head and pick the phone up from your nightstand. "Aubrey Posen speaking."

_"No shit. I thought I called Jesse,"_ Beca says, though the taunt has less bite to it than usual. Or maybe the background noise on her end is just really overwhelming. _"I'm coming home. Will you be there later around dinner?"_

You don't immediately answer, because your heart is too busy trying to dance its way out of your chest. Beca just called your place – where you now live alone – _home_.

_"Bree?"_

"Uh, I don't have any plans. I guess. Yes, I'll be here."

_"It took you more than ten words to convey yes? Dude, you're losing your touch."_

"Shut up."

And Beca actually does. There's a brief silence, punctuated by a dull roar of people around her. You were actually going to complain about how it makes your hangover worse when Beca speaks again.

_"Chloe says she misses you too."_

"Well, she's making a pretty good show of it." You belatedly realize how bitter you sound and you massage your temple with one hand, blaming it on the hangover.

_"Don't,"_ Beca says, her voice clearly different now. You realize why when she sniffs the next moment – she must have been crying. _"She's not ready. You said it yourself."_

"I did. Is she with you right now?"

_"Yeah."_

You lie back on your bed and close your eyes. "How is she?"

Beca's quiet for a moment. _"We're sitting side by side in the airport lounge. She's leaning against my shoulder. Weather's great and she's wearing one of my flannels. A blue-green one. It brings out her eyes and hair. She's beautiful as ever. Just a bit thinner. And her cheeks aren't as rosy. She pulled all-nighters almost the entire week so she looks pale – aww, she fell asleep. She was awake when I called you."_

You bite back a smile to no avail, because Beca is rarely this forthcoming – _and sensible_, you almost add – in person. "Tell me more."

_"Her hair looks different – still vibrant red, just different. I can't tell why and maybe you could, if you were here. I suck at these hairstyle things. She has fewer freckles than I remember. Oh, Chloe had to get glasses. You know how she squints when she's watching TV? Anyway. She looks smashing wearing them."_ You're pretty sure Beca is smiling on the other end too, and she continues, although in a more somber tone. _"She cried a lot last night. About me leaving. A bit about you too, because she says she's scared she'll never find the right words and she might lose you."_

"A Posen does not keep grudges. We hold our heads high and move on."

_"But you're angry with Chloe right now."_

You roll your eyes. You're going to remember this as the Reveal-Aubrey's-Feelings summer. It certainly seems like you've been explaining yourself too much to people lately. "A little. But nothing would make me lose her." _Not even you, _you almost add. You've already decided you would never speak about your feelings for Beca, and no matter what happens you're sticking to it.

Beca lets out a sigh._ "I'll tell Chloe."_

"You should. Exactly what time are you coming in?"

_"You're not picking me up, are you?"_ Even without seeing her, you know Beca's smirking.

"I was going to be the bigger person and offer to do so, but then you reminded me you're a lost cause."

_ "No, seriously, you don't have to. I kind of forgot to tell Dad about Baltimore, so he's picking me up and, you know, go on and on about how I could've died or something."_

You roll your eyes. "What? Beca, you've been gone two weeks! If I were your dad you'd be getting more than a sermon!"

_"No need to brag about your parenting skills, thank you very much." _A pause, and then, "_Hmm. So you've been keeping track of how long I was gone, huh, Aubrey?"_

The way Beca says the last phrase was suddenly self-satisfied with the barest hint of mischief, and you almost want to chuck your phone at the wall.

* * *

"Hello there, stranger," Beca smirks.

You don't care that you opened the door before she could knock because you've seen Dr. Mitchell's car stop on the lane leading to the apartment. You don't care that you're wearing one of your tiniest denim shorts and the neighbors might spot you. You don't care that Beca's bogged down with two additional bags more than her backpack. You don't even bother to roll your eyes at her terrible greeting line. You pull her into a hug, which you manage easily because of your ridiculous height difference.

And the shocker is that Beca drops one of the bags in her hand and puts an awkward arm around you. It didn't seem much, but for Beca Mitchell, that kind of intimacy must have been a huge leap.

"Dork." Never have you ever uttered another insult so lovingly. _Damn it, Posen, you're getting soft._

"Mmm'shoo," Beca garbles near your collarbone. Her hand, which was barely brushing your back earlier, relaxes and settles securely at your waist. Her touch is surprisingly warm.

"Did you just say 'miss you'?" You say breathlessly, even if you were only standing by the doorway hugging Beca, feet planted firmly on the ground.

"I said 'get your claws off me', Bree," Beca says tauntingly, and she pulls back with her usual trademark smirk. "I haven't gone bonkers, unlike you."

"God, barely a minute and you're already being annoying." You turn and step back inside, suddenly ashamed of your eager display of affection. Beca follows you as you sit primly on the couch, bouncing on the plush cover beside you with a force that makes you wince. "Seriously, Beca? Do I need to housebreak you?"

Beca rolls her eyes, and then her face sobers up. "How're you doing?"

You bite back the sarcastic remark you're longing to say at her bordering-on-solemn expression. "I'm fine," you say with a shrug, crossing your legs and staring at your lap. "What happened to you and Chloe?"

"We, uh, we're doing the long-distance thing." Beca ponders about it for a second, and then shakes her head. "No, that means nightly Skype and suffocating things and stuff. We both don't want that. It's kind of that thing on Facebook. Like an open relationship."

"So you're together until you're willing to fuck other people?" The words come out harsher than you intended, and Beca visibly winces.

"That's not gonna happen. Besides, I initiated the whole thing. I just...I don't want to be a distraction."

"You deserve better." _Seriously, Aubrey? What happened to 'not stealing Beca'?_ You shake your head and massage your temple with one hand. "I'm sorry. I'm frustrated with Chloe so my arguments are subjective, and therefore invalid. Don't listen to me."

"Chloe is the best." Beca smiles, though it doesn't quite reach her blue-grey eyes. "I'll keep coming back to her. And she'll find her way back to me too."

At that moment, you kind of want to crawl under the covers of your bed and cry your eyes out.

"It will work out," you hear yourself say instead. _Great, Posen. Just great. You're a martyr._

"It will," Beca says. You turn to her and her eyes are shining with determination.

* * *

"It smells like sexual desperation in here," Fat Amy complains later that afternoon, when you're all stuck watching _The Vow_. "It's boring and there are no men _anywhere_."

Barely five hours after they had left, the Bellas are back in the apartment again to see Beca. The brunette had barely rested and unpacked – the two of you had barely finished cleaning up after lunch when Stacie and the others arrived – but Beca gamely entertained them, beaming as the girls hugged her one by one.

"Don't ask for men," Beca suddenly quips. "Aubrey might bring a bunch of them home again and –" You elbow her so hard in the ribs and the others start laughing. They've obviously heard about your little breakup marathon from Chloe.

"In any case, can we please, please go out tonight?" Stacie asks. "There's a party at the Trebles' clubhouse later. And I've had enough of staring at that bulge in Channing Tatum's jeans. I want the real thing _pronto dente_."

"Ewwww!" you all chorus, making varied expressions of disgust. Stacie only chuckles.

"So is it a go or a no?" Lilly asks. "I have assassinations to postpone."

It's a good thing that after your first ICCA win Lilly became more confident and she now speaks at an audible volume. But there's an unfortunate downside: you can also hear the creepy things she says. You look at each other uneasily.

Beca stares hard at you, the question clear in her eyes, and you put on your automatic frown when she's being an idiot. "Are you actually _asking _for my permission like some two-year-old, Mitchell?"

"I'll need someone to drive me home when I'm hammered," she answers with a smirk, and Cynthia Rose and Denise lets out a whoop.

"Wow, so I'm your chauffeur now?"

Fat Amy, obviously excited, grabs the others one by one by the collar and drags them out the door before Beca can retort. "I declare this batshit bonanza over! We have a party to prepare for!"

* * *

It's evening and you're running late, because the girls surprisingly came back to the apartment half an hour before the scheduled meeting time. You're trying to find something appropriate to wear when your phone, set neatly on your bedside table, rings shrilly.

"God, not now," you mutter as you're rummaging in your closet, clad only in your underwear. _What to wear?_ You don't want something that shouts _fuckable_, just something that conveys _I'm here with friends and I intend to have fun but I'm going home sober_. You carefully lay a blue top and a cream skirt on the bed.

Your phone's still ringing. You absentmindedly press answer and speaker, not glancing at the screen, and go right back to poking through your array of dresses. "Aubrey Posen speaking."

_"Aubrey?"_

You freeze. It's Chloe's voice, clear and reverberating on your quiet bedroom.

_"Aub-rey,"_ Chloe says again, in that singsong tone she often uses right before she tackle-hugs you.

"Now you have the audacity to be annoying?" you say, trying to keep your voice calm. You sit down on the bed to control the anger you didn't know you hoarded seething quietly inside you.

_"I'm sorry, Bree,"_ and her voice is suddenly weary. _"I...I can explain everything, but first, I'm sorry. Please listen –"_

"No. You listen, Chloe Beale, and you listen well, because I am only going to say this once." You blurt out the words before you can think, and you just as easily say the next sentence before the words make sense in your head. "I want Beca."

And then there's silence.

This is the first time you admitted it out loud, and you were kind of hoping for_ I don't know,_ _fireworks maybe?_ But instead there's fear and a very odd sense of humiliation – because you're finally able to say that the biggest cliché of your life is falling for your best friend's girlfriend. Whom you used to hate to bits. And whom you joyfully tortured with more cardio than the rest of Fat Amy and the other Bellas combined.

And then there's the hard-to-keep, but totally sound promise to yourself that you broke. _So much for taking my lousy feelings to my grave._

The silence stretches out to a full minute, and it only serves to increase your feeling of being underwater.

Finally Chloe responds, in a voice devoid of emotion. _"Why?"_

"Because I'm only human, that's fucking why! And now that you've traipsed off to John Hopkins without so much as a sayonara to me and to your morbidly hopeless girlfriend, let me tell you this too, Chloe: I fully intend to steal her away from you. You had someone so beautiful and so fucking perfect and I've wanted her for the longest fucking time. And yet here you are, blue-eyed and red-haired and dumb and throwing it all away with your open relationship shtick instead of just sticking a ring in her finger or something –"

You're not sure when your voice started rising, but your hands are now balled into fists and you have this manic urge to throw things. Chloe interrupts your tirade.

_"Do you even know what you're saying?"_ Chloe says, now sounding clearly incredulous. The boiling anger in you only increases its fury upon her childish words_. "You can't just steal Beca from me."_

"Of course I can. I'm Aubrey fucking Posen, bitch. I fucking succeed."

A dull thud makes you turn swiftly to the doorway. A brunette was scrambling to pick up her own phone. You'd know those boots and that attractively-unruly hair anywhere_. Beca._

"How long have you been standing there?" you ask in your fiercest tone, although your insides are wildly churning around in panic and uncertainty. First, you're addressing her in your bra and panties and nothing else. Second and most importantly, _She knows she knows she knows she knows_ –

Beca looks at you for what felt like an eternity (which, in retrospect, lasted only about thirty seconds). She's holding her phone in a crushing grip, her knuckles white, her face a shocked, blank slate.

Before you can say anything, though, she backs off towards the door and runs out.


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks for your reviews, and I beg you, don't kill me.** I know I've committed the atrocity of not updating immediately. But I'm here to deliver the longest chapter yet, so keep reading and commenting like the supportive guys you are, yes?

This is a spur-of-the-moment chapter, a filler that unfortunately can't be left out. I've rewritten this so many times until I came up with a decent version, and frankly, I'm not happy with it. But this is the only way I can set up Aubrey and Beca with Chloe being okay with it, you know? Besides, I solemnly swear the next chapter will be posted sooner, now that this one's out of the way.** Okay I'll stop nitpicking. On with the story!**

* * *

"Aubrey Posen sp –"

_"Aubrey, hey."_

"Jesse?" You're already pacing back and forth, struck wordless with astonishment upon seeing Beca's name on your phone, and even more astonished at the voice that greets you. "When did you get back from Nashville? And why are you calling me with Beca's phone?"

_"You never answer when I use my own,"_ Jesse replies accusatorily. _"Stacie and I have been calling you for days."_

You get even more worried. "Why? Did something happen to –" you catch yourself at the last minute, biting back a certain brunette's name on your lips – "the, uh, apartment?"

_"Look, I know you're dying to ask about Beca. Otherwise you wouldn't have answered this."_ Jesse clears his throat. _"This is about her. It's been a madhouse in your apartment lately."_

You hear Stacie's voice in the background. _"Is that Aubrey?"_ Jesse grunts and hands the phone to the tall girl. "_Aubrey, when are you coming back? We have the feeling Beca's doing this because of you."_

"I don't know what you heard, Stacie, but I haven't done anything to Beca." _At least, not intentionally._

_"And that's the problem right there. Beca won't tell us anything. But she's been on too many drinking sprees and crazy stuff, and it's getting a little...alarming. We've been doing our best to keep an eye on her. But sometimes even Jesse can't catch up."_

You stay quiet for a long time, unsure what to say, until Stacie finally breaks the silence. _"It might not even be about you. But Beca thinks highly of you, Aubrey. You roughed through Chloe's departure together. She trusts you and she'll talk to you."_

You shake your head. "Beca only listens to Chloe."

"_That's not true. And Chloe is our last resort – Beca specifically said not to bother her. Aubrey, you've been gone four days. Where are you anyway?"_ Stacie's tone was pleading. _"Jesse and I can pick you up."_

"I don't think so." You look at your suitcase, tucked neatly beside the nightstand. "I'm in Baltimore."

* * *

_Four days ago_

"I'll call you back," is what you only say to Chloe before rushing out to the kitchen, desperately emptying the contents of your stomach into the sink. You wash up and bury your face in your hands, still replaying Beca's exit in your mind.

The moment you hear Stacie and Fat Amy's cars leaving (you distinctly hear Beca telling them the two of you weren't coming) you go back to your room, dig out your smallest suitcase from under the bed, and systematically pack a week's worth of clothes. You spend the next hour on your laptop. You make a couple of phone calls and print some papers. You pull out the purse you particularly use for traveling and double-check its contents before tossing it next to your suitcase.

Ten minutes later you're starting the engine of your Prius. The apartment is quiet when you walk out, Beca having locked herself in Chloe's room. Halfway to the airport you give in to the awful guilt plaguing you. You pull into the nearest safe-looking parking lot and call Stacie.

_"Aubrey!"_ You assume she's still at the Treblemakers' party, judging by the thumping bass in the background. _"Ha, they all come to Stacie Conrad in the end."_

You chuckle dryly, some of the tension leaving your body. "Keep dreaming, Stacie."

_"I will. And you'll be naked in them every time."_

"Jesus."

_"No biting reprimands today, I see,"_ Stacie notes, her voice immediately changing from playfully seductive to serious. _"Are you okay?"_

"No. There's something urgent I have to do. I'll be gone for a few days," you say. "Can you keep an eye on Beca?"

Stacie's immediately up to the task, asking no questions. _"Of course,"_ she answers, concern clear in her voice. _"I hope everything goes well for you. We can feed Beca beer, right?"_

"Suit yourself. Thanks, Stacie."

* * *

_Present_

And so here you are in Baltimore, four days after your French exit. You check in at the first hotel your kindly cabbie recommended. You coop up in your room the first few days. You ignore all calls and messages because none of them came from Beca and Chloe, the two people who have unconsciously snared you into the trap of caring for someone other than yourself.

You lounge on the bed channel-surfing, too drained to open the blinds or the lights. You order room service but barely eat. Your phone rings and it's either Jesse or Stacie. You throw the phone across the room and puke clear bile on the sink.

The third afternoon you finally go out and buy an armful of novels, nervously looking around because suddenly your worst fear next to vomiting in public would be to see a vivacious, inevitable (in your thoughts, at least) blue-eyed redhead in the street. You chortle at the irony of going to Baltimore just to avoid Chloe Beale. _Grand Canyon or Hawaii would have been nice this time of the year,_ you muse. _More and more it seems like my id is taking over_. You brush your Freudian thoughts aside and try to spend your time reading Hemingway and Miller instead, quietly gathering your wits.

You're almost doing okay this afternoon. You ate a plate of risotto and took a long shower. You were reading _Sexus _in bed when your phone rang. For some reason it wasn't broken after your fit of anger two days ago, lying behind the television. You retrieved it and your heart skipped a beat upon seeing Beca's name onscreen. It's enough to make your resolve slowly but surely fade away.

If it had really been Beca, you might have gone insane.

Your phone rings again, five minutes after hanging up on Jesse. This time you don't even glance at the screen, already knowing who it is. "Aubrey Posen –"

_"Bree,"_ Chloe interrupts, and her voice is surprisingly gentle, soothing. _"Jesse called me. Where are you?"_

"Marriot Waterfront."

_"Okay. Can we have dinner? I can meet you in two hours."_

You don't know what you were thinking when you bought that last-minute ticket to Baltimore. But as you feel the last of your rationality slipping away, you decide that it's the worst idea ever. "Chloe, I don't think..."

_"Please?"_ You could almost see Chloe pouting.

"I don't...I don't know what to say."

_"Then don't say anything. I just want to see you, Bree. We don't have to talk. Please?"_

You glance at your wristwatch. Six p.m. You have two hours to prepare your spiel.

"Fine. But I mean it, Chloe, I don't know what to tell you."

_"'It's fine. But 'I love you' would be nice,"_ Chloe replies, rather casually_. "I love you, Bree."_

She says it without malice – with very pure intent, in fact – that you couldn't help but feel guiltier about Beca. "I know. I love you too."

* * *

By the time Chloe meets you in the bar near your hotel, you've downed numerous shots of your favorite liquid courage – tequila.

And you've also filled eight pages of a yellow legal pad with writing that increasingly grew more erratic the longer you hunched on your barstool.

Someone taps your shoulder while you're staring moodily at your glass. You turn around and there's Chloe – red-haired, blue-eyed, wearing that frank smile you missed seeing. You immediately take note of how skinny she'd become. Her hair is less sleek and curly than usual, a sure sign she'd been neglecting to style it as of late. You make a mental note to tell Beca before you remember why you're here.

You realize you've been staring at Chloe for a full minute, and you stand so fast you almost stumble. But Chloe takes your arm to keep you steady, pulls you towards her, and holds you close with a loud sigh.

You resign yourself completely in her arms, hugging her back and drawing her impossibly closer.

"I missed you," Chloe breathes out somewhere in the nape of your neck. "I missed you so much."

You only nod, because there's suddenly a lump in your throat that could only be caused by an equal mix of nerves and guilt and – strangely – an _overwhelming_ sense of devotion for this ginger clutching you tightly. You stifle a sob and inhale a lungful of Chloe's heady lavender scent.

Chloe smells something else. "Liquid courage?" she asks, releasing you with a frown. She knows perfectly well that you drink tequila only during extreme situations. You desperately try to pull her towards you again, but she firmly holds your shoulders. "This is so _not_ how I envisioned seeing you again, Bree."

The bartender who has been watching you worriedly for the past hour saunters over. "Figures that you two are friends," he says to Chloe with a grin. "You're the only two ladies I've met who can out-drink me."

"Shut up, Cole," Chloe says, flashing the guy a half-smile. She turns to you. "I've been drinking here since I arrived in Baltimore," she explains. You notice how her smile is a little hesitant, her eyes guarded and cheerless as she recalls her first few days in the new you and Beca were trying to hold on to some semblance of faith back in Atlanta, Chloe was fighting the worst kind of hell – the hell of being alone, knowing nobody and knowing you can't turn back to your previous life because you ran away in the first place. "By the fourth afternoon Cole already had my drink list memorized."

"Draft beer, rum and coke, and then scotch on the rocks when you're weeping like crazy?" Cole shakes his head. "That's not very hard, Chloe. Except on your liver."

You merely look at Chloe, too light-headed to reprimand her even when you know you should. But Chloe only puts an arm around you. "I don't think you'll get through dinner." She leaves some twenties on the bar and starts leading you out, and you remember to grab your legal pad before she steers you towards your hotel.

Once the two of you are in your hotel room, seated beside each other on the bed without actually touching, Chloe speaks.

"Bree, I know I said we don't have to talk, but you could at least show me you remember my name."

You haven't spoken one word since meeting her. You meet her anxious blue eyes. Why she's so tense, even when both of you know you're at fault, is beyond you. "Chloe..."

"Yay, you do remember me!" Chloe must have seen a change in your expression, because she finally leans – albeit hesitantly – on your shoulder. It obviously took her a huge amount of effort to restrict her touchy-feeliness, and there's a pang inside you because even when she has all the right to be angry, Chloe's still putting your feelings first.

"Chloe." Your voice catches from the amount of tequila you had, and you try again. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I didn't mean what I said about stealing Beca away from you. You're my best friend, and it would go against my personal code of honor to do such a thing."

She laughs, not moving from her position, the sound hollow in your ear. "Right."

"You don't sound convinced."

"Well, convince me."

You straighten the yellow papers still grasped tightly in your hand, and read them in the steadiest voice you can manage.

"First, I am a person of my word. I have proven this to you within a span of almost five years of friendship. Second, there's Major James Alastair Posen, who will surely find Beca unfit for me. Third, there's the pressing issue of Beca being in love with _you_. This leads us to my fourth point – that hence, pursuing Beca would be ridiculous, not to mention futile. Fifth, going after Beca will be a blow to my reputation I can never recover from. It will cement my image as a heartless bitch, who had the guts to steal Beca away from you. People will surely sympathize with you, given that everybody loves you. Sixth, because everybody loves you, they will go to lengths to protect you. And it will most likely involve hurting me. Which is something people do on a regular basis, only the backlash would be much worse and I particularly fear Lilly's retribution. Seventh –"

Chloe finally stirs, but only to knock your papers to the carpet.

"Fine, Aubrey. You've given this so much thought."

You hold back the protest you're longing to utter, instead waiting for her to go on.

"So now that you've established you're never going after Beca...what if Beca pursues you?"

You shake your head disbelievingly, and Chloe straightens to face you. "What the hell, Chloe? Don't you trust Beca?"

"I do," Chloe says simply. "But I'm posing a hypothetical question."

You say nothing, because nothing in this world would make Beca think you're better than your best friend.

"Bree."Chloe's expression is strangely placid, which you couldn't understand, because the only logical reaction in this kind of situation is to freak out.

"No! It's not going to happen, even in my dreams. Beca is my parallel line. I will always seek her out, and we will always be side-by-side, but we'll never meet. I have already accepted that."

"Have you?" Chloe's eyes stare intently into yours. Her perceptiveness has always been one of her best characteristics, but you hate it so much right now.

"Well..." You finally throw up your hands in a gesture of surrender. "No."

Chloe reaches over and picks up your papers, then stretches out on her back, reading the pages one by one. You feel your face getting red. But you stay on your spot at the edge of the bed, looking anywhere but at her.

After a long while, the bed shifts. Chloe's suddenly behind you. She wraps you in her arms and gently maneuvers you until you're both lying side-by-side on the bed, facing each other.

You're not aware what expression you're wearing – in all honesty, you barely care in your almost-inebriated state – but it's hard to escape the sly, oddly hopeful smile Chloe is wearing.

"Bree." She holds out a hand to stroke your cheek, and you close your eyes and lean into the touch, immediately sighing at the contact. This is the Chloe that you know – the one who always had to be touching you. "Are you aware that you wrote 1,216 justifications why you and Beca can't be together?"

You frown but refrain from opening your eyes. "Yes."

"Well, are you aware that you wrote _this_?"

You finally open your eyes. Chloe's brandishing one of the papers in front of you. You follow where her index finger is pointing and feel your face turn even redder. It read, _89. I love you._

Chloe flips to another page, points out another item, and then goes on to the next page. And the next page. And the next after that.

_146. I miss you so much. Too much, sometimes._

_214. I think of you and Beca at an equal and such an alarmingly high rate._

_373. When I think of being with Beca I immediately and reflexively think of being with you._

_482. I will never do anything to lose you._

_611. I love you. I mentioned this back there somewhere, but it needs reiteration. I love you._

You look back at Chloe, speechless. Her secretive smile has turned even more radiant in the interim, like she had the key to all the questions running through your mind.

"That's just the first four pages, Bree. I haven't even showed you the rest," she comments, seeing your apparently-bewildered expression. "You do remember writing these, right?"

You shake your head a fraction of an inch, disarmed by that glint appearing in her eye – the same glint you saw right before you panicked, called Stacie, and started your stupid fuckfest a month ago.

"But you wrote this?"

You close your eyes and nod yes. It's definitely in your neat handwriting, although you couldn't recall how your mind drifted _there – _to that place where you were hiding all your inappropriate feelings for people you couldn't bear to lose. _Fucking A, Aubrey. First you declare you want Beca and now you're writing little love notes to Chloe. There's no winning this keep-your-shit-to-yourself thing._

Chloe's mild chuckle shakes you out of your thoughts.

"Apparently someone's subconscious is smitten with me."

You open your eyes, expecting Chloe's face to be mocking, judgmental, or – even worse – indifferent. But as usual, Chloe never fails to amaze you. She's beaming – actually _beaming_, the kind that she does when she's about to get affectionate – and it's one of your most favorite sights in the world, more than sunsets and old cathedrals and anything else.

"This is not just some dumb infatuation, Chloe," you finally breathe out. Chloe's so close you could count the long, delicate lashes framing her cerulean eyes. You've always known Chloe to be beautiful, but at this close proximity she's even more breathtaking it makes your chest hurt. Or maybe it's your heart banging wildly against your ribs. Either way, Chloe is the cause.

"I know," Chloe says quietly. She shifts her hand from stroking your cheek to cupping your chin. "And you should know better than fight this, Bree."

That smile again. It's sending you through the most complex of feelings – bold and nervous and thrilled and breathless and just... _I feel like I'm on fire. _And there's only one inevitable thing that can douse the flame.

You close the exasperatingly wide gap between you and Chloe, and the moment your lips touch you instantly know you were, for once in your life, mistaken. For the sensations coursing through you only serve to fan the flames; when Chloe finally responds, with a little sigh, the fire becomes pleasurable all at once.

No power, no passion, would compare to this kiss.

There's a dull, haunting ringing in your ears that just makes you clutch Chloe closer to your body. You're barely aware of holding on to her, wrapping her possessively in one arm while your hand reaches out behind her graceful neck. Chloe can drag you away right here, right now, to anywhere she pleases and you'd barely care because her lips promise mystery and freedom and all those wild, scary things in your life you've always wanted to do but never had the courage for.

The kiss ends too soon and it takes all of your willpower not to cry at the loss of contact. Chloe opens her eyes and there's a new clarity in them – one that you only saw once before, when she told you that she and Beca are finally together. But the kiss, for you, does the opposite. It confuses you. It makes you question things. Like how every other kiss you've had before it pales in comparison. Like how you suddenly realize you've wanted to kiss Chloe for a long time. Like how you just crossed some sort of barrier – an entire fucking sea, even – and this girl is waiting on the other end. And you can't imagine living the rest of your life without her.

But you're mostly bothered because you remember you want Beca as well. You want to make out with her in the couch, walk hand-in-hand with her in the street, make her breakfast. And yet within the span of ten minutes, your body has activated this hunger for Chloe that would never go away ever again.

"I don't...I don't know what I'm doing," you finally say.

Chloe only shakes her head. "We don't have to talk about this tonight, Bree. You're not exactly sober. Let's do this tomorrow, 'kay?"

You nod quietly, and she pulls you to snuggle against her, your head on her chest.

"Whatever is it we figure out, remember that I love you."

You tilt your head to face her, the sweetest person you've ever known, and you could only manage another nod.

* * *

You wake up to the familiar scent of lavenders and the feeling that you can never ever leave Chloe's arms. Even in sleep the redhead clung to you fiercely, her hands pulling you to her body, spooning you comfortably. You slowly turn around to face her. Chloe's breathtaking. And, as of six in the morning, you have her all by yourself.

You luxuriate in her presence, in the way she slept, the quiet rise and fall of her chest, her lips slightly apart in that alluring way only Chloe Beale effortlessly does. The moment your eyes rest on her lips, you know you've made a fatal mistake. Your heart is throbbing painfully just thinking of the way they felt against yours. You've never felt like you have no choice until this moment – a Posen must always have a backup plan – until Chloe took you to cross this gulf, and for once in your life, you can never go back.

You have to taste her lips. Now.

You take Chloe's face gently in your hands, careful not to wake her, and inch forward. Somewhere in your mind is a faint voice shouting _this is bad. This is me losing control. This is me finally succumbing to an addiction. This is me on a downward spiral._ You close your eyes, barely even breathing, and then – contact.

This kind of high, you can never replace. What you meant to be a soft, quick peck quickly turns into hungry, prolonged kisses you can't manage to stop. Chloe stirs, her arms slightly tensing around you as she gathers her sleepy thoughts. Then she smiles and kisses you back, exploratory at first, and then increasing in fervor until you both have to stop out of prolonged breathlessness.

"What a lovely person to wake up to," Chloe purrs, pressing her forehead against yours.

You're suddenly ashamed of your brazen actions. "I'm sorry, I really couldn't help –"

But Chloe only holds a finger to your lips. "Don't. Don't ever apologize, because all I want to hear is that you want this as much as I do."

You're quiet for a moment. "Chloe, you know very well I can't want you. Everything my father doesn't approve of, I can never have."

A shadow passes over Chloe's face. "Like what?"

"Like that offer from Juilliard. That graduate student program in Japan. My mother's affection. Should I keep going? Because I am not losing you and Beca over something as petty as my feelings."

Chloe shakes her head. "Bree, your feelings always mattered so much to me."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean you're reciprocating them –" and then it hits you, when Chloe's expressive eyes suddenly look frustrated, what she was trying to say. "_What?! _But you have Beca! Why would my feelings matter this much to you? Are you kissing me just because –"

"You're over thinking this." Chloe laughs, and you just know it's because of the heated flush on your face. "You're worried because that kiss wasn't exactly how you envisioned our reunion would be. But it's okay. In fact, it's more than okay. I've always known you're inevitable."

It's her lackadaisical attitude that sets you off. "Why aren't you panicking about this? I am in love with your girlfriend, and for some twisted reason, I'm in love with you too. You're my best friend, Chloe! This is mind-fucking me in ways you couldn't even begin to imagine! And you – all you have to say is that I'm _inevitable?_"

"Can you please calm down?"

The two of you are quiet for a while, with you breathing heavily, trying to control your gag reflex. Chloe watches you until she deems you're pacified enough to hear her out.

"This is scaring me too, and I hope that's enough for you," Chloe says quietly. "You know how I've loved you all this time. But then came Beca, and I thought being with her would make me the happiest girl in the world. And I am. Beca's wonderful. But somehow, I still see you. You were unhappy with Jesse, but you were trying so hard I didn't dare stop you. Then Jesse left and you went to pieces. Suddenly my blissful life with Beca isn't enough, because I had to see you happy as well. I don't know how to make this work, and I'm probably explaining this all wrong, but I can make you happy." Her eyes bear down on yours, and it takes all of your willpower to hold her gaze. "If I'm mistaken, say it straight to my face, Bree. Say it, and I'll drop this subject forever."

"I can't have two people at once. And neither can you. In the first place, I can't want a woman! I'm a Posen –"

"Aubrey Posen, do you love me?"

Chloe spits out the question so curtly, it sends shivers up your spine. You're suddenly drained of whatever pretense you were trying to keep. "Yes."

"Then stop making sorry excuses for yourself! You're a grown woman. You can't keep repressing your feelings unless you want to end up like your father." You cringe inwardly at the thought, and Chloe notices, because her expression softens and she starts caressing your arm with one hand. "Look, I know this is very confusing right now. But all I ask is this: please make a decision that isn't based on your family name, for once. I don't care when, or where it will lead, but promise me you'll really think about this. You are my person and I want nothing more than to see you happy. You never let opportunities slide. _This_ is an opportunity. Don't let this slide."

You nod wordlessly, filing the words safely in your mind for further consideration.

"And until you decide, don't breathe a word to Beca. I believe you love her as much as I do, so you know that despite her snarky attitude, it takes very little to make her run. Even after a year she still can't understand how people can love her. She'll panic, she'll shut herself away –"

"Beca knows." Just speaking her name makes your chest constrict again. "The day you called me...I didn't know she was there, and she heard everything."

Chloe sits up so fast you feel your own body bounce on the mattress by the movement. She looks at you with wide eyes. "Aubrey, why is this _not_ the first thing you told me when we met?! I _knew _you didn't just come here out of the blue to see me!"

Confounded by her reaction, you only manage to blink, your hand gestures trying to make up for your loss of words. "I'm – I'm surprised Beca didn't tell you."

"Ever since I left Atlanta, Beca hasn't been telling me a lot of things. And I don't hold it against her, because I betrayed her. She will not be telling me things for a long time."

"But you're staying together. You must have promised her a happy ending. You – "

Chloe sighs. "Yes, but I've been her girlfriend for just a year, Aubrey. People have been leaving her all her life, and that's a long enough time for her to build walls around herself. I've barely even broken through half her defenses." She chuckles bitterly, the sound making you incredibly sad. "I left knowing she'll always love me, but that I risked losing what precious little trust she had. And I was right. Our reunion was both happy and miserable. She's affectionate one moment and guarded the next; it was hard to breathe around her. When I prodded, she cut me off. She's used to resolving everything on her own before she had me. And the past month, that's the only thing she's been doing."

You clear your throat. "She's...from what I've heard from Stacie, she's not resolving it very well."

"It's typical of Beca. She runs, she broods, she drinks and plays Nintendo all day, and she ignores what's in front of her until it goes away." Chloe returns to your side again and takes your hand in hers. "If Beca knows, this changes things. You love her. And I can't – I can't just let her run from you. I'll call her –"

"Chloe."

The ginger falls silent at your firm tone.

"I'm sorry to hear about you and Beca. But until I decide, I want you to stay out of whatever drama Beca and I are having –"

"Bree, you know very well you're not fixing anything with Beca if you stay here. You're now one of those people who left her too –"

"_She_ ran away from _me_!"

"Yes, but she didn't go all the way to Baltimore and lock herself in a dark hotel room for five days! Please listen to me." You couldn't bear to disappoint those pleading blue eyes, and so you heed her. "I left Beca, and we patched things up as well as we could, but we can't really move forward because we're too far apart. But you – you're underestimating how much Beca trusts you. You are perfectly capable of keeping her with you. But I have to see you try. Only then can I promise not to meddle."

You take a deep breath, carefully chewing over her words. But all you can think about is _I'm now one of those people who left. _There's a silence that follows, and you remember Jesse's phone call, and your world suddenly spins at the thought of Beca possibly pining for you. "Chloe, I – I left her. She'll never trust me again. And I'll never have a chance to show her how much I care. She –" you find yourself sobbing before you could finish the thought, and Chloe immediately embraces you, kissing the top of your head.

"Again, you're over thinking this, Bree."

You sniff in response, trying to control your blubbering.

"Beca may be a flight risk, but it doesn't mean she's not forgiving. If you return and apologize, you'll find that she'll give you more chances than you could ask for. Beca has very few people in her life. You're one of them – of us. And she'll fight tooth and nail to keep you. She just has to see you trying."

You finally manage keep your emotions in check. "I will not just try. I'm a Posen. I'll make this right."

"_We'll _make this right." She breaks off from the hug to gently brush your tears away. "For the record, I'm sorry for leaving without explanation."

"I accept, and I'm sorry for – for being such a bitch." You barely restrain another sob, and Chloe smiles.

"Would a kiss make you feel better?"

You only let out a watery chuckle. But Chloe kisses you anyway, a light one in the lips that seemed all too brief.

"I want more," you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

"So do I, but we need to get breakfast," Chloe murmurs, tucking stray locks of hair behind your ear.

"No. I mean, can I – can I spend more time with you before I go back to Atlanta?"

At this, Chloe beams. "Bree, you never have to ask."


End file.
